


Moonstricken: Eternal Descent

by Noëlle McHenry (Quasi_Detective)



Series: Project Eclipse [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Apologies, Arguing, Awkward Conversations, Child Murder, Clubbing, Cruelty, Crush at First Sight, Delusions, Drama, Drowning, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Forced Relationship, Hallucinations, Human Experimentation, Imaginary Friends, Insanity, Investigations, Isolation, Kidnapping, Loneliness, Loss of Control, Love at First Sight, M/M, Making Out, Marriage Proposal, Murder, Mutation, Off-screen Relationship(s), On Hiatus, Physical Abuse, Pining, Suicide, Tragedy, Unrequited Crush, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Verbal Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasi_Detective/pseuds/No%C3%ABlle%20McHenry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dustin Patefield is a lonely boy with all of one so-called friend, not including the "friend" his imagination has made for him. When he starts to become better acquainted with others, for how long will Dustin's imaginary friend lay back before jealousy causes him to lash back and take matters into his own hands?<br/>A story of tragedy and insanity throughout three generations of sons within a family line. With friends like these, who needs enemies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Chance Encounter on a Day in June

**_ 40.712464, -74.368244 _ ** .

           It is 4:45 AM. An alarm clock, set up underneath a black fan which, in itself, is propped up to point at a bed by a few cardboard boxes, begins chirping its annoying noise.

           The person in bed stirs and rolls over to face the setup. Almost surprised at being rudely awakened, even though his mornings were almost sadly identical, he blindly reaches an arm out from under the fuzzy brown blanket and tries to reach under the fan for the snooze button, but only manages to hurt himself doing so. _Typical._

           He curses the alarm under his breath and sits up, his dark hair shifting from the sudden motion. He reaches around the fan and pulls the damnable device out by its long black cord. Once it is in his reach, he roughly turns the alarm off, puts it back, and flops back down onto the bed with an exasperated sigh, his blue eyes flashing with annoyance.

           This is Dustin Patefield. He is 13 years old. It is 2010.

           He stands up from the bed and stumbles to the bathroom, peering accusingly at the refection before him. His hair is black and glows a strange purple hue in certain lighting, and he has a small round birthmark on the lower front-left part his neck.  
           His eyes are a vibrant light blue color and as he rubs at them, he notices the heavy bags underneath. They reassure him with their presence, as if to show him that he is still himself, flawed as he may be. His mother is always telling him to cover up the dark circles, but he argues that he likes the look of them.

           He is still wearing his dark red plaid shirt, which he had slept in and also plans to wear to school today. If one were to complain that such a prospect is unhygienic, he would say nothing, unless of course that someone was his mother, in which case he would simply say that he didn't give a _damn_ what others thought. Dustin's clothing choices reflect his general attitude, which is being different, being comfortable and being more than a little lazy.

           The shirt was a Christmas present from his father to Dustin's ten-year-older brother, roughly eight-nine years ago. His brother didn't really care much for it. Dustin, four years old at the time, absolutely _adored_ it for some reason.  
           He still did.  
           As such, the shirt was given to Dustin, and the kid insisted on always wearing it around the house despite it being huge on him. Dustin plans on wearing it until he grows into it, however long it takes.

           Truth be told, just looking at Dustin, it is quite obvious that the shirt will probably _always_ be too big on him. He has a much smaller frame than his older brother, who currently stands at about 6'1"; Dustin is currently only 5'7", and he currently weighs 109 pounds on the dot.

           Dustin stays hunched over his black laptop until 7:30AM, at which point he gets dressed, packs his backpack, and heads downstairs, his stomach growling in protest at the long wait for breakfast.

           His brother, who is the only one in the house with a job, has already left, and their mother is still asleep upstairs, which leaves Dustin to his own devices.  
           He is very comfortable this way. He enjoys being alone most of the time, as long as he has something to do. However, if he is bored, being alone quickly begins to take its toll on him. As such, he tries to _never_ to be bored.

           As Dustin grabs the margarine from the fridge, he quietly mouths words to someone leaning against the doorway that only he can see.

           Truthfully, no one is there. Even Dustin is aware of this.

           Yet even so, he simply cannot refrain from talking to this imaginary friend of his. He refers to this person as _Eternal_ , because he simply _continues to exist_ , no matter where Dustin is, no matter how Dustin feels.

           Eternal takes the form of Dustin most of the time, so to speak, but his hair is much messier, the bags under his eyes more intense, and his pale yellow-ish colored skin much paler. He also _lacks pupils_ ; his pupils are nothing but black rings. Eternal's hair stands up in the back, unlike Dustin's, which at shoulder-length is too long to do so without some product.

           Eternal himself is a product of Dustin's imagination. However, the creature appears to have a will of its own half of the time, and sometimes, it goes out of its way to scare Dustin.  
           For example, Eternal likes to terrify Dustin whenever the boy looks into a mirror. This is how they met for the first time when Dustin was 4, and this is also why Dustin is, at times, deathly afraid of mirrors.

           Dustin has never told anyone about Eternal. He knows that nobody would understand, or care long enough to understand as they're wheeling him off to the nut-house.

           "So, what's going on today?" Eternal asks in a high, shaky voice, crossing his arms around his chest as he leans casually against the doorway into the kitchen. His gaze was solid and his expression cocky as if he dared Dustin to answer him.

           "Oh, nothing much. Just the usual, you know." Dustin replies in his head, subconsciously moving his lips to form the words silently as he spreads the margarine onto two pieces of bread, his hand trembling.

           Eternal is in the middle of a witty response when Dustin is suddenly thrust from his imagination into the realization that he is alone; the reason for this is that the phone begins ringing, the sound jarring against the relative quiet in his head.

           Dustin _hates_ being interrupted in the middle of a conversation with Eternal. Especially by the person who he knows is calling. The person he dreads interrupting his morning, but somehow always finds a way to.

           Letting out a groan of disdain, Dustin storms over, his bare feet cold against the tile, contrasting with the heat of his annoyance and picks up the phone. "Sherrie." he spits out.

           " _Hey_ , Dust!" Sherrie Lowe is on the other end. While Dustin is a very reserved type of person, always appearing cold and distant, Sherrie is quite the opposite. Dustin often wonders where the saying "opposites attract" comes from, because he doesn't agree with it at all.

           Sherrie is a beautiful young girl with brown hair to match her deep brown eyes. Some guys might even call her _sexy_ with her magnificent curves, and although he is not interested in her romantically, Dustin would have to agree.  
           She is very outgoing, though she is much too flirty for Dustin's tastes. Not to mention, she has ADHD, and she is often reluctant to take her medication.

           This morning, she has not yet taken her meds, which Dustin can determine just from her voice alone.

           "Dust, yeah, _looksie_ , um,"

           " _Sherrie_ ," He says sternly. He knows where this conversation is going, and he is _not_ happy.

           "Dustie, I need you to come pick me up." She says in the same sort of voice that a hesitant, scolded kid might use.

           "Sherrie, _no_. I'm not picking you up."

           "Oh, come on!"

           "No! Last time I picked you up, we were late."

           "Oh, _no_ , god forbid!"

           "Besides, I have to meet up with David."

           "Fuck David! He's an asshole!"

           Dustin makes a face for a second. He can't deny that the girl has a point; David Henseler is always beating the shit out of him for no other reason than, " _It's to toughen you up so you aren't so much of a girl._ "

           "Come on, we won't be late! Just come pick me up already!" She pleads.

           "You had better be ready when I get there." Dustin grumbles, his will to resist failing against her incessant whining.

           After leaving a note for his mother on a small paper in case she wakes up before 8:30 AM, Dustin slings his heavy, dark blue backpack over his right shoulder, grabs his two pieces of bread, and leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind him. _I'm ready,_ he says to himself, knowing full well that he wanted nothing more than to stay in bed that day.

* * *

 

**_ 40.718117, -74.356746 _ ** .

           Dustin Patefield arrives at Sherrie Lowe's house after a twelve minute walk, as his walking speed happens to be the equivalent of most of his classmates' _jog_. Sherrie, in a gray t-shirt and pink underwear, opens the front door to the white side-by-side two-storey duplex and welcomes Dustin inside.

           "I thought you said you were going to be _ready_..." Dustin grumbles at her when she closes the door behind them.

           Sherrie's face becomes red, and she seems flustered. "I would'a been, but then I got distracted and I saw that this bitch online spelled my _name_ wrong. How do you spell _Lowe_ wrong?! There's only like, two ways to spell that!"

           "Actually, I can think of about seven off of the top of my head." Dustin replies, not missing a beat.

           "Oh, fuck off and try thinking about something productive, you fuckin' nerd." She stuck her tongue out at Dustin.

           They both share a laugh.

           Sherrie poses dramatically. "Alright, untwist your panties, _girlfriend_ ; I'm gonna go get dressed now. And then I'm gonna pig out on some cereal and watch some telly."

           Dustin sighs wearily. " _Dammit_ , Sherrie."

* * *

 

**_ 40.718539, -74.365092 _ ** .

           On the way to their school, Sherrie runs her mouth about the show she had been watching when Dustin finally dragged her outside, quite literally so.

           "You see," She rambles, "There's like, a bunch of these guys and hot chicks, and they all fight each other and shit every episode, but sometimes they show these funny behind the scenes clips, right?"

           "Yeah."

           "Well, like, there are two guys, and I just ship them so hard!"

           "Uh-huh."

           "This one guy, he wears this yellow mask to cover his face. His name's Attention, and apparently he's super hot or some shit. Anyway!  
           "The other one is this _really short_ guy, a little bit shorter than you probably, with orange, yellow and black hair. His name's Psycho."

           "Okay."

           "And like, they hated each other so much, and apparently they-" -at this point, she performs air quotes- "-' _still do_ ', but even during matches, there's just so much sexual tension between them! It's crazy!"

           "I think you're probably just looking too much into it. They probably just really hate each other."

           "No, _seriously_ , though! You can just _tell_ ; they're so shy around each other. Plus, I think Attention might actually be a masochist. Come on, picture it!"

           "No."

           " _Attencho!_ Psycho with a whip, Attention bent over the bed, and-"

           "Just _stop_. _Please_." Dustin covers his face as he laughs. "What is this conversation. I just... _don't_."

           Sherrie laughs and locks her arm with Dustin's. "Skip the rest of the way with me like this, and I'll stop talking about my love for boy love."

           "Deal."

           As they begin skipping with each other, Sherrie continues spouting out her fantasies.

           "Stop, Sherrie!"

           "What? We haven't skipped the rest of the way yet! I can still talk about it!"

           " _Noooo!_ " Dustin screams jokingly, finding Sherrie to be a welcome distraction this morning.

* * *

 

**_ 40.718998, -74.366745 _ ** .

           At the end of the day, Dustin Patefield walks the way back with a different friend of his. This boy stands at about 5'5", and he is very much like Sherrie Lowe personality-wise. An earful of colorful language spits out from the guy’s mouth into Dustin's ear as they make their way towards home.

           While his friend runs his mouth, Dustin looks ahead to see that Sherrie, walking ahead with a person that Dustin has not yet met, has stopped, and the two of them are waiting for Dustin and his friend expectantly.

           When they catch up, Sherrie very briefly introduces to them the black haired, gloomy-looking boy beside her.  
           " _Girls_ , this is Jack. I met him in math class. He helps me out with the questions."

           Jack pulls a hand out of the pockets of his dark green shorts and does a short, polite wave. "Hello."

           For some reason, Dustin is dumbfounded just staring at Jack, and he does so for a long moment, not caring how rude and weird he might be appearing to the group.

           Jack's black hair is parted to the right-side of his face, his bangs covering that side. He wears black-rimmed glasses, black sneakers, and a white t-shirt with his shorts. His skin has a flushed tone to it, and his eyes are a deep brown color, not unlike Sherrie's.

           Dustin snaps out of his Jack-fueled reverie and shakes his head to clear his thoughts.

           Dustin’s friend walks ahead with Sherrie, leaving Jack and Dustin walking beside each other behind them.

           For the first time ever, or so it seems, Dustin feels the need spark up within him to make conversation with this complete stranger, and despite being startled by it, he decides to act on it before he loses his new-found confidence.  
           "So, uh... _Jack_. What's your favorite course?"

           "Math, I guess. I'm really good at math."

           "Ah, I _hate_ math. I've always been fonder of English."

           Jack laughs, "I hate English."

           " _Funny_ ," Dustin mumbles awkwardly. He had pictured this conversation going a lot better in his head.

           "I think my words are much better said than written." Jack adds. "When they're written, it's harder to tell their tone, and it just sort of makes me sound like an idiot."

           Dustin likes Jack's contribution to the conversation very much. He respects a person who can make interesting conversation.  
           "Yeah, I guess I can tell where you're going with that. I mean, unless the words are written professionally, then yeah, they might not have much life to them."

           Their conversation lasts until the intersection. _The sad intersection_ , Dustin has now dubbed it, as it is the reason he can no longer converse with Jack. Dustin turns in a different direction as the other three at this point.

           "Dust, where are you going? All of us, including _you_ if you've forgotten, live _this way_." Sherrie says, pointing childishly in the direction that she and her friend usually walk.

           "I've gotta run to the store. There's something I need to get."

           "Oh, _come on_!" Sherrie whines, her brown eyes flashing at him.

           The light changes and Dustin rushes across, shouting after her, "I've gotta go!"

           For a few seconds, Dustin walks alone. He thinks of Jack and subconsciously begins to let himself drift back into his imagination, to let himself visualize Eternal with him, when he suddenly hears,  
           "Hey."

           Dustin looks back, but keeps walking. Trailing close behind him is Jack.

           "I don't think I ever got your name, sir."

           A tad flattered by the use of the word _sir_ , Dustin slows down a tad for Jack to have an easier time catching up and walking beside him.  
           "My name's Dustin."

           "Well, Dustin, may I walk with you?"

           Dustin blinks, stunned for a moment. His excitement at this new development is making his heart race. No one has ever asked to follow him somewhere before.  
           "... Um. Don't you have to go with the others? Or go home or something?"

           "No, not really. I'd really like to walk with you, though."

           "Um..."

           "Please?"

           Dustin can't help but surrender, chuckling a little as he turns his head. "Fine, fine, I guess you can."

           "Sweet."

           Together, the two of them go to the store. Dustin is unable to find what he even went for in the first place, however, so he says to Jack, "Say, uh, since you came all this way with me, is there anything you want? Can I buy you a chocolate bar or something?"

           "You sure?" Jack asks, as though this is an important decision.

           "Yeah, man. I figure if I've got this money, I might as well spend it. Not everyday I have money on my person."

           Though hesitant at first, Jack finally shrugs and gives in. "Sure, if you want to."

           Jack picks out a chocolate bar, and the two leave the store together after paying.

           As happy as Jack makes him, Dustin suddenly longs to be alone, his mind needing time to think about what is happening.  
           "Well, I'd better run. My mother might worry." Dustin announces suddenly.

           "Hey, thanks for the chocolate, Dustin. I had a good time."

           Jack's comment makes Dustin smile sheepishly, as he's never heard anyone say this to him. He, however, fails to come up with a response on the spot, so he just makes a quiet happy sound of some sort.

           "I'll see you tomorrow?" Jack asks.

           "Yeah. See you tomorrow." Dustin does a pathetic little wave, his self-consciousness bubbling over.

           "Bye," Jack says, not noticing the inner turmoil that Dustin is experiencing. Jack is now facing Dustin with his back turned to an intersection he intends to cross.

           "See~." Dustin chirps back, his way of saying " _See you_ ," as he turns around and starts to walk away.  
           As he walks, he turns back a couple times to look at Jack, and for the first time in a long time, he feels genuinely happy. Something about the prospect of a friendship with Jack has made him very giddy. The smile on his face makes his cheeks flush slightly with elation, and Dustin knows he wants this smile, and this feeling, to stay.


	2. Fragile Friendships

**40.720379, -74.370984.  
**

           It's September 6th, 2010.  
           Jack Kingson walks into his homeroom class for grade 9. He recognizes no one in this classroom, as he has switched from regular courses to enriched courses, and because of that, he's joined in with the "smart kids."

           Sherrie Lowe is not here, though Jack isn't surprised by that; Sherrie's hot, yeah, but she's not particularly good at anything but drawing and writing angsty poetry.

           Jack takes a seat at the back of the classroom, next to a petite Chinese girl who seems nice enough. She scoots over a little and continues drawing in a little pink notebook. When he tries to look at what she's drawing out of the corner of his eye, she covers it with her arm, obscuring it from view.  
           At the moment he stops trying to peek at her artwork, the kid he met in June walks in, struggling to carry a heavy bag with a torn shoulder-strap, and a binder.

           ' _Dustin,_ ' a voice in his head responds to the question he had subconsciously asked, ' _His name is Dustin._ '

           Dustin flashes him a quick smile that could say "Hey, I think I know you," as he stumbles past. He heads for a desk at the front of the room, next to a large but lean boy with spiky brown hair and a light blue t-shirt.  
           This boy has only taken down a chair for himself, leaving the rest of the chairs at the table stacked on top of each other for someone else, apparently Dustin, to take down.

           Jack watches Dustin place his backpack down, and also subsequently watches the boy sitting to Dustin's left kick the bag over.  
          

           Dustin playfully snaps, "Quit it," and places his binder down on the table. He reaches up and places his hands underneath the chair on the bottom of the pile of four.

           As Dustin heaves to lift the chairs, the boy with the spiky hair raises a hand and jabs his fingers into Dustin's side, which causes him to drop the chairs, causing a bit of a scene.

           "Hey! Boys!" The teacher snaps impatiently. "Dustin, be careful!"

           "Yes, I will..." Dustin sighs, defeated.

           Jack can't quite believe his eyes. He can't believe that douche-bag got away with doing this, nor can he believe that Dustin let him do so. Dustin picks up the chairs, and as he does, it isn't difficult to see that he's a little bit pissed off; in Jack's opinion, rightly so.

           This needs to be fixed.

* * *

 

           Dustin Patefield finally sits down and sighs, running his slender right hand down his face. When he opens his eyes, he notices that his tall friend, whose name is David Henseler, is staring at him. He thinks nothing of this, however, as it's not particularly unusual. Instead, he simply sticks his tongue out childishly, playing along to the best of his knowledge.

  
          "No," David responds, punching Dustin's shoulder, eliciting a quick pained noise from the boy.

           ' _Hit him back._ ' Dustin hears somewhere in the back of his head.  
           ' _Shut up, Eternal._ ' Dustin grumbles in response, hoping that he doesn't accidentally say these words out loud. Luckily for him, he doesn't, and the response is only thought. Eternal quiets down, as well.

           Suddenly, there is a sound across the table from Dustin. David looks over, and Dustin meekly sneaks a peek upwards.  
Jack Kingson stands there, having pulled up a chair from himself. He's leaned over the desks toward Dustin, and he casually says, "Hey there."

           Dustin allows himself to make brief eye contact with Jack, his blue eyes meeting Jack's deep brown eyes.  
           "Hi." He says with a slight grin.

           "I hope you remember me."

           Dustin furrows his brow before he responds. "Of course I do, Jack."  
           Seeming relieved to be recognized, Jack's tense shoulders loosen up a bit. "May I sit here?" He asks.

           When Dustin hears this question, it is his turn to become tense. He glances at David to find that the strong boy is actually glaring at Jack. Stammering nervously, Dustin manages to come up with something to say.  
           "W-well, you'll have to ask David. It's... It's not entirely up to me."

           Jack seems troubled by this answer, but he cordially turns to face David.  
           "May I sit here?" He repeats.

           David looks at Dustin, who doesn't realize he is now staring at David expectantly. With a huff, David shrugs and mumbles, "Whatever."

           Jack takes a seat and decides to carry on with the small talk approach.  
           "So, how long have you two known each other?"

           Dustin waits a moment for David to retaliate to the question with some sort of ridiculous insult, but when he realizes that at least five whole seconds of silence have gone by, he takes it upon himself to reply.  
           "We met in grade seven."

           "Has he been treating you this way the whole time that you've known him?" Jack asks with a slight frown.

           "Heh, yeah, pretty much." Dustin snickers nervously, wanting to tell the truth but also knowing that the truth might sound worrying to Jack.

           Jack shakes his head and sits back. "You need better friends." He remarks.

           Dustin sees David raise his head at this, and instantly feels dread well up within him.  
           ' _Oh no. Jack's done it now._ '

           "Shut up. What do you know about friends?" David snaps.

           Jack sits back upright. "Why should I shut up? I'm talking to a friend of mine. I have a right to talk to my friend."

           "Just shut up, you faggot."

           Dustin glances back at the teacher to find her desk now empty. She has left the room, it seems.  
           ' _Shhhhit._ '

           "No, you ignorant brute," Jack continues with a cool tone, "I will not shut up."

           "You suck mammoth cock!" David suddenly shouts.

           Dustin realizes that David is now trying to make him laugh. He wonders if maybe laughing would be egging David on. He's done it before.  
           ' _Laugh._ ' Eternal suggests. Dustin shakes his head.

           Seeing Dustin vacantly shake his head, David's smirk slowly slips away.

           "I know you do, but what do I do?" Jack responds to David.

           "Lick echidna balls." David chimes back.

           ' _I can't let him do this to Jack. I've lost too many opportunities to make friends. Jack's different. He came to help me just now; no one else would do that. I can't fuck this up!_ ' Dustin realizes. Taking a deep breath to gather up some courage, he hesitantly places his hand on David's shoulder. The tall boy shoots him a strange look.

           "What's the matter with you?" He asks.

           "David, cut it out. That's enough." Dustin says in a serious, albeit weak from fear, voice.

           Getting some sort of a kick from this, Jack carries on.  
           "Do you even know what an echidna is?"

           "Do you even know where _your dick_ is?" David asks back, mocking Jack.

           "David." Dustin grumbles.

           "Well, yes, actually, I do." Jack says.

           David rolls his eyes. "Yeah, because you suck it too much."

           " _David._ "

           "Wh-what? How in the world does someone suck their own dick?"

           "Ask yourself. You're the one who sucks his own dick."

           " _DAVID._ " Dustin snarls, startling David, who now gives him a vaguely surprised look. "Are you going to listen to me now, or are you going to keep making a fool out of yourself?"

           David sneers. "Hey, your boyfriend is the one who's starting it."

           Dustin rolls his eyes. "If you stop, he'll stop. Right, Jack?"

           Jack is staring at Dustin with a confused yet flattered look. He nods.

           "Wh-... Wh-what's the look for?"

           "You didn't deny us being romantically involved."

           Dustin's face goes blank. "... What?"

           "So you two _are_ boyfriends! Hah, _gaaaay!_ "

           Dustin slams his head down on the desk in defeat. "Oh, David... What am I ever going to do with you?"

* * *

 

           The teacher returns to the classroom shortly after Dustin defuses the fight, and the first class of the day begins.  
           As the teacher begins reviewing the school's various policies, Dustin turns his head and looks to his left. At the desk that Jack had initially been sitting at sat Yin Yue Shan, who was now sitting alone. When Dustin was in grade seven and had spent half of the school year at that point getting abused by David, at the start of term 3, this girl suddenly walked into the classroom.  
           He still remembers how she looked then.

           Her silky black hair was shoulder length. She had her pink bag draped over her shoulder, wore a baggy pink sweater and light-colored jeans, and she had a red Chinese-to-English dictionary in the crook of her arm.  
           Dustin recalls how he could do nothing but stare at her at first. He had never believed in love at first sight... but then he saw her, and his heart leaped from his chest, did cartwheels, and refused to slow.

           She was beautiful.  
           She _is_ beautiful.

           Now, her hair has been allowed to grow down to her shoulder blades, and she usually wears a white sweater with a black vest, black pants, and white sneakers. She still has the pink bag, however.

           Dustin stares at her longingly for just a couple seconds too long, and she raises her head, sensing eyes on her. He impulsively looks away, and when he turns his head to look back and perhaps smile or wave, she's lowered her head again. Once more, the word "typical" comes to Dustin's mind.

           He has never asked her out because he's afraid that she's out of his league. She's way smarter than he is, and she's much more athletic. That, and he doesn't want anything to be awkward between them, such as work.  
           He's really just terrified. His last relationship with a girl, which he had been in at the time he had first seen Yin Yue, didn't end well. In fact, he hadn't even know that they were in a relationship until she broke up with him, saying that he wasn't romantic enough.

           Dustin sighs quietly and glances down at his binder. He opens it, and he pulls out a pencil from the flap on the left cover. On his loose-leaf, he starts drawing Yin Yue. He will never be able to do her beauty justice, but dammit, he will try.

* * *

 

**40.712464, -74.368244.**

           A month passes. Dustin's days have not been very much different, and he's spent practically every day the same way; on the computer, at school, and then on the computer again.

           Speaking of his computer, over the past two years, Dustin has become friends online with a Canadian girl named Jacqlyn Brown, but he still doesn't know what she looks like. Not that he minds; she doesn't know what he looks like, either, as Dustin is the paranoid type who doesn't like having a webcam or microphone plugged in.

           On his birthday, October 19th, Jacqlyn suddenly changes the line of discussion, something she rarely does, being the type of person to prefer serious, one-track conversations.

           "Dustin, I have someone I want you to meet." She types.

           Dustin pauses and blinks at the screen. "What, you mean... on MSN?"

           "No shit, Sherlock."

           "No thanks... You should know that I don't like talking to strangers online."

           "Trust me, he won't be a stranger for more than three seconds. He's a real friendly guy. Too friendly."

           "He a serial killer?" Dustin types back jokingly.

           "I dunno, but maybe he's a drunky."

           "What?"

           "He's Irish."

           "I think that's racist?"

           "Racist but true."

           "Jacqlyn, it's a miracle you've never been stabbed in the middle of the street."

           Jacqlyn responds with a heart emoticon, clearly feeling no shame for her satirical humor.

           "Well, are you willing to meet him? His name's Dylan. Please meet him. I'm hoping he's not the kind of guy that can multi-task."

           "Is he bothering you?"

           "HE'S TOO DAMN FRIENDLY. I HATE FRIENDLY."

           "What? You love friendly."

           "I'll end you."

           Dustin laughs in reality, but over MSN he only lets Jacqlyn know that he accepts the request, but only to save her from the "overly-friendly Irish dude".

           "Thank you."

           After a pause, Dustin watches as a name pops up at the end of the list of names on the chat window. True to Jacqlyn's word, that name is "Dylan Cronin".

           "Hello~?" Dylan types with an extremely happy custom emoticon at the end.

           "Hello." Dustin types back shyly. He's not the best at making conversation with strangers.  
           ' _Maybe that's why I don't have many friends._ ' Dustin ponders.

           "Heyo, you must be Dustin. Nice to meet you, I'm Dylan Cronin if you couldn't tell by my name. Happy Birthday, by the way! I hope we can be friends?"

           "... Sure, why not?"

           Surprisingly, on this day, Dustin has stumbled into someone who was to become a very good friend. It is as if their meeting was fated, just like Dustin and Jack's. After chatting back and forth for over an hour and therefore bothering the shit out of Jacqlyn due to the constant notifications, Dustin and Dylan proceed to add each other to talk without Jacqlyn.

           After two months, a certain kind of brotherly bond has formed between these two; a bond that Dustin wishes everyone could have with each other, but also a bond that is, in turn, frowned upon by David and Jack for some reason. At least, that's what Dustin believes, because when he told his two male friends about Dylan, they both seemed to hold him in great distaste.

           "Why don't you two like Dylan?" Dustin asks the two of them during class one day.

           David comes up with the typical reply of, "He sounds like a fag."

           "That's not a reason, but alright..." Dustin responds.

           Jack shakes his head.

           "Why don't _you_ like him, Jack? I mean, he's a nice guy! Did I say something to make him seem like an asshat?"

           "No, it's not that." Jack says. "It's just... I mean, you're talking to him online. How can you tell if anything he says is the truth?"

           Dustin blinks silently. He'd never really thought of it like that.

           "W-well, I... I mean, it's not like he's trying to figure out my address or sexually harass me or anything."

           "That's good. But what if he's lying about things?" As Jack says this, David nods ever so slightly, as if to indicate that he feels the same way.

           Though the very thought damages Dustin, he shakes his head and shrugs. "So what...? He's not hurting me..."

           "Not physically." Jack responds, a concerned look on his face. "But, honestly, I'm worried about your feelings."

           Dustin looks down at the floor.

           ' _Don't worry._ ' Eternal says in the back of Dustin's head. ' _If it comes to light that Dylan is lying about anything, **I'll kill him myself.**_ '

           Dustin prays at that moment that Dylan is being truthful. Eternal may not be real, but Dustin can honestly say that he has no idea what his imaginary friend is capable of.


	3. Make-Ups And Break-Ups

**40.720379, -74.370984.  
**

           Dustin Patefield and David Henseler sit in the cafeteria together, playfully bickering and beating each other up.

           "David," Dustin begins playfully, "I'm telling you right now; you won't be able to rip open a Pepsi bottle with your teeth. It just... No."

           "Oh yeah? Just watch me." David responds through his teeth, past the bottle which is now half-way into his mouth. David's stubbornness knows no boundaries, and as such, he continues trying to tear the clear plastic open. Dustin, being as paranoid as ever, absentmindedly flinches, worried that the bottle may explode or something.

           Before David has much of a chance to do anything to the bottle other than crease it, Jack Kingson suddenly arrives. He stands beside Dustin, who sits on the table bench and glances at him over his slightly-effeminate left shoulder.

           "Hello," Jack says gently, "May I sit here?"

           Dustin pauses for a long moment, simply staring up at Jack. He realizes full well that if he allows Jack to sit with them, he risks a potential spat involving David, but he agrees anyway. See, Dustin has this issue with saying no.

           After a few more seconds of struggling, David finally manages to crack open a tear in the Pepsi bottle.  
           "Ah-ha!" He exclaims. "See? I fuckin' told you!"

           However, looking at Jack and Dustin, he finally senses that there's some degree of tension between the two boys. The air becomes uncomfortably quiet despite the background ambient of other students rambling at one another, and none of the three at the table make eye contact.

           David picks up his water bottle.  
           "I'm gonna go fill this up." He says before he gets up and, in a rush, leaves the cafeteria, heading upstairs.

           Jack turns so his entire body is facing Dustin, who is staring off into space.  
           "Why are you friends with him?" Jack asks.

           Dustin is broken out of his imagination by this question, and he glares at Jack for a moment, as if offended by the question. However, he does not give an answer, the reason that Jack assumes being that he cannot form a decent answer.

           "I just want to understand why you tolerate that brute." Kingson adds meekly.

           Dustin appears to think for a short moment. With a few blinks, the boy absently brushes his dark purple hair out of his eyes and opens his mouth to speak. "... Honestly, I'm not sure."

           "Is it..." Jack pauses in hesitation before continuing, "Is it because you know that if you aren't friends with him that he'll have no one else to turn to, and you feel sorry for him because of that and you lay it upon yourself to be his only friend?"

           Dustin shoots Jack a stunned look, which allows him the verification of a correct statement even before Dustin stammers a response. "... Well... I guess so. I mean, that sounds about right... You're good, Jack."

           Jack shrugs modestly. "I am," he replies, not-so-modestly.

* * *

 

**40.720379, -74.370984.**

           It's 2012, and Dustin Patefield is in the gymnasium with his class. Because Yin Yue Shan is not in today for some reason, Dustin has no partner for the activity. So he sits on the floor, partner-less, simply trying to get lost in his thoughts, when suddenly a voice startles him, and he whips his head around.

           Behind him stands one of his classmates, a Filipino girl named Lori Ganivet. Lori has plenty of friends to partner up with, and Dustin assumes that she is one of the most athletic girls in the class.

           ' _So,_ ' he wonders, ' _why is she here, standing behind me?_ '

           "Hey, Dustin." She says with a smile. "Can I be your partner?"

           Dustin's mind returns a blank. This is his first time being spoken to by this girl, and also the first time he has actually seen her up close. He is realizing now just how pretty she is; unlike Yin Yue, Lori is shorter than him, and also unlike Yin Yue, she wears plenty of makeup.

           But goddamn if she isn't beautiful in her own way.

           Finally, Dustin awkwardly nods. Lori sits down behind him, and he kicks himself.  
           ' _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Now you're gonna embarrass yourself in front of her, because she's gonna beat your ass at everything!_ ' He thinks, now miserable.

           They begin doing partner activities together, and about two stations in, he notices that she is panting from exhaustion already. They toss a heavy pole back and forth, and as they do, he tries to make polite conversation.

           "So, Dustin," Lori manages to say, "How was your weekend?"

           "Oh, it... It wasn't too bad, I guess. Yours?"

           "Mine was fine. Had to practice a dance routine."

           "Oh yeah, that's right... You're in that dance class, aren't you?"

           "Yep." Lori beams a pearly smile at him. "I'm really enjoying it so far. I just wish they'd let us pick K-POP songs."

           "Why, you like K-POP?"

           "I don't _like_ it. I _love_ it. K-POP is my jam."

           As they continue to toss the pole back and forth, Dustin can't stop staring at Lori. He watches the way her pony-tailed brown hair sways to and fro. He glances at her pretty brown eyes, made more gorgeous by bold lashes. He almost forgets Yin Yue even exists, as suddenly, his heart is taken by this girl that has somehow danced her way into his mind.

           Unbeknownst to them, after this, the two of them will never speak to each other again, but Dustin will forever be haunted by the memories of a girl he wishes he could have learned more about.

* * *

 

** 40.718148, -74.356255. **

           Recently, Sherrie Lowe has been flirting on one guy and one guy alone (sort of); a boy named Josh McVay. Josh is a douchebag, and she knows that, but she doesn't care, because to her, a boyfriend is a boyfriend, no matter how much of a dick he is.  
           Today, she has walked with Dustin and Josh to the corner store by her house to buy a frozen pizza. Having purchased what they came for, they are now walking back to her house.

           "Here, Josh, be a gentleman and carry this." She says, handing the bag to her immediate left.

           "I ain't carryin' that!" He laughs.

           "Come on! Be a guy! Guys are supposed to be gentlemen!"

           Suddenly, Josh's tone becomes cold. "I'm not carrying it."  
           Sherrie keeps her mouth shut, suddenly somewhat afraid.

           "Fine then," Dustin suddenly pipes in, allowing himself to lag behind and grabs the bag from Sherrie's hand. " _I'll_ carry it for her." He then marches ahead, a faster walker than Sherrie and Josh by nature, with his left hand in the pocket of his worn jeans.

           " _Ooh_ , you go, Dust. Look at _Dust_ , Josh; _he's_ being the man. He's the one with the pants on here." Sherrie teases. Josh isn't pleased.

           Once inside, the three do pretty much nothing but goof off until Sherrie suddenly demands for Dustin to get under the bed.

           "Wait, what?" Dustin asks comically, believing her request to be a joke.

           "You heard me. Get under the bed."

           Realizing she's serious, Dustin's humor begins to fade. "No."

           "Come on, do it."

           With a hefty sigh, Dustin obeys. He's under the bed in his own thoughts for a few minutes while Josh and Sherrie get onto it, and he's bored but content until he hears sloppy mouth noises.

           ' _No way. They're not... I mean, there's no way that they're... Is there?_ '

           To satisfy his curiosity, Dustin comes out from under the bed and looks.

           On the bed are Sherrie and Josh, their legs tangled, making out. Sherrie notices that Dustin has come out from under the bed, and she snarls at him. "Get back under there!"

           Usually Dustin, being the type of person he is, would have obeyed, albeit reluctantly. However, something, perhaps Sherrie's immaturity, drives him to respond not quite like his usual self.

           "No!" He shouts, raising his voice at her for the first time. "I'm not going back under there! I'll tell you where I _am_ going, though; _home!_ Someone give me the fucking phone." Not wanting to touch Sherrie's room phone, he picks up his bag and heads for the stairs.

           " _Fuck_ you, Dustin!" Sherrie roars. "You're just fucking jealous that I'm getting action and being _mature_ , and you're not!"

           "Sure, yeah, because this is the _perfect_ definition of 'mature'. And no, I'm _not_ jealous, because you're a fucking _child_. I'm not coming back here. _Goodbye_ , Sherrie." Dustin heads downstairs, politely asks Sherrie's parents for their phone, calls his mother to say he is returning home, and then leaves Sherrie's place, not even bothering to look up at Sherrie's window to see her staring down at him with tears in her eyes.

* * *

 

           The next day, Sherrie meets Dustin in the school cafeteria. "Hi... Uh, could I talk to you for a second without David here?"

           Dustin isn't very happy to see her, but he decides that would be alright. With a sigh, David gets up to refill his water bottle once more.  
Sherrie timidly sits next to Dustin, looking a little bit ashamed, a look that doesn't suit her.

           "Look, uh..." She scratches the back of her head nervously. "I'm really, really sorry about yesterday. After you left, I realized just what an asshole Josh is. He tried to have sex with me, so I screamed and my mother kicked his ass to the curb."

           Dustin makes a quiet noise, but says nothing. He refuses to even make eye contact with Sherrie, though this isn't a particularly unusual gesture for him even when he's in a good mood.

           "Please, I'm sorry. I found another guy, and I promise he's not an asshole. Well, at least, not _as much_ of an asshole."

           "Who is he?" Dustin asks, though he doesn't expect to understand the answer very easily as he's not really acquainted with too many people.

           "Oh, you know him. I introduced you two before, and he talks about you a lot."

           Dustin finally looks at her, attracted by this statement. At the same time, however, he feels his heart skip a beat in anxious dread, which he successfully hides from his facial expression.

           "You remember Jack, right? Jack Kingson?"

* * *

 

**40.718117, -74.356746.**

           December of 2012 rolls around. On December 12th, eighteen days before Sherrie Lowe's birthday, Dustin Patefield sends her an email telling her to have a happy birthday when the time comes around, and that he anticipates he'll probably be out of town on the 30th, visiting family.

           Sherrie reads the e-mail over and over, but she can't comprehend it. She's been friends with Dustin for almost six years, and never before has he said he was going to miss her birthday party. She can't _believe_ it. Dustin doesn't even _like_ his family.

           She knows he's lying to her, and she can't believe the _audacity_ he has to try pulling the wool over her eyes. So many times, he's refused to visit her.

           She is _done_.

           When she sees Dustin the following day leaving school, walking alongside her so-called boyfriend, Jack Kingson, and she sees him wave at her, she immediately gives him the middle finger and marches ahead of them on the other side of the street.

           "Dude," Jack whispers to Dustin, who turned his head before he could see her flip him off, "I think she just flipped you the bird."

           "What? What do you mean?"

           "After you waved. She stuck her middle finger up at us and now she's storming off. What did you do?"

           Dustin furrows his dark brows, truly stumped. "I dunno... I'm really not sure."

           "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure she'll get over it..." Jack announces, rolling his eyes. "Women, am I right?"


	4. Where There Is A Loss, There Is A Gain

**_40.720684, -74.372262_**.

           It is the middle of 2013 before Jack Kingson manages to trick Sherrie Lowe and Dustin Patefield to be in the same place at the same time. Up until this point, talking to them separately, he’s asked them about each other, and told them he wants to get them back together, and that he will not rest until he has done so.

           Now, they both stand outside the school, in the exact spot Dustin had been standing when their relationship hit the fan.

           Sherrie sighs. “Dustin, I’m sorry. I overreacted. I’ve missed you like crazy.” She says.

           Dustin stares down at her, his brow furrowed once more. “Well…” He stammers. For what feels like a long moment, Jack is worried that Dustin won’t say anything else.  
           “I… _Hell,_ I missed you too.”

           Sherrie hugs Dustin tightly, startling him. However, Dustin hesitantly smiles and hugs her back, albeit not very tightly as physical contact isn’t exactly one of his favorite things.

           “ _Yesss._ ” Jack hisses to himself, pumping his fist in the air to express the feeling of victory he’s experiencing.

           Together, the trio walks, Sherrie standing in the middle, her arms locked with both her friend’s and her boyfriend’s. When they come to the main intersection where Sherrie and Dustin usually have to turn in opposite directions, Jack makes it clear that he is following Sherrie, but Dustin turns toward his street.

           “Dustie~!” Sherrie hollers. “Get over here! Come on over to my place!”

           Dustin feels torn, and he stares at Jack. He is no longer comfortable being at Sherrie’s house with another person, not after the event with Josh McVay. He doesn’t expect what happened before to happen again with Jack, not at all, but he isn’t willing to test fate like that.

           “No, I’ve… I’ve gotta go home. My mother will kill me if I don’t.” He says, feigning a smile.

           “Come on! You can call her if she’s so overprotective.”

           “No, uh, but I’ve got paper. Give me your Skype name and we’ll talk later?”

           With a heavy sigh, Sherrie takes from Dustin a scrap of paper and writes on it her Skype name; “ _sherrie.lowe_ ”.

           “Alright, I’ll talk later then! See~.” Dustin leaves her and Jack be, walking briskly down his street with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

           That August, while looking for a paper written on by Yin Yue Shan, Dustin finds the note with Sherrie’s Skype name and has a moment of silence for the friendship he killed by forgetting to add her to his contact list.

* * *

 

 ** _40.712464, -74.368244_**.

           While doing things online, Dustin Patefield suddenly notices the MSN icon on his taskbar has begun blinking orange. He’s curious, but already knows who it’s from; Dylan Cronin. What he doesn’t expect is _a super happy message_ from Dylan Cronin.

           “HOLY FUCKING SHIT DUSTIN!” The Irish boy types, followed by a shitload of happy emoticons.

           “What?” Dustin asks in response, only slightly concerned that Dylan has gone insane.

           “YOU’LL NEVER FUCKING BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED.”

           “We won’t know until you tell me, will we?”

           “IT’S JACQLYN, DUDE. SHE’S MY GIRLFRIEND NOW!”

           Dustin feels himself pale due to the sheer disbelief. “She’s what?”

           “MY GIRLFRIEND!”

           The world was ending. Canada must have been on fire.

           “Really?” Dustin asks, skeptical. “She doesn’t seem like the type to get into a relationship, especially not with a guy…”

           “I know, right?!” Dylan replies, calming down a tad and accidentally somewhat insulting his new girlfriend. “I didn’t expect her to say yes, but I asked anyway and HOLY SHIT SHE SAID YES! I’m just so fucking happy right now! This is the best day of my life!”

           Not believing a word Dylan is typing, Dustin decides to question Jacqlyn Brown about this sudden development.  
           “Jacqlyn, Dylan’s telling me you two are a thing now. Is he bullshitting me?”

           “Sadly not. He asked, and I pretty much just said, ‘Sure, why not.’” She replies. Dustin can’t help but read this in a cynical tone, having known Jacqlyn longer than Dylan.

           “But why? I thought you didn’t like him because he was too friendly.”

           “I didn’t want him to cry or dislike me.”

           “Is that all?”

           Jacqlyn doesn’t reply for a few seconds. “… I dunno. We’ll just have to wait and see what becomes of this, right?”

           “I guess so…” Dustin honestly doesn’t expect these two to last very long; Jacqlyn is morbidly serious and brutally honest, while Dylan is silly at heart and can’t bear to hurt someone’s feelings, not to mention the fact that Dylan wears his heart on his sleeve.

           “Just don’t break him, alright?” Dustin requests of Jacqlyn.

           Jacqlyn’s only immediate response is, “Wait and see.”

           Dustin admits to himself at this point that Jacqlyn scares him immensely.

* * *

 

 ** _40.720379, -74.370984_**.

           In September of 2013, Dustin is now in grade 11. He’s finally ready to open up to Yin Yue Shan and others; finally ready to show them the real Dustin rather than the timid, socially awkward mess he usually projects.

           As soon as he walks into the classroom on the first day of school, dressed in a white t-shirt and a black and purple plaid shirt as opposed to his typical red and blue one, with his hair cut to mid-neck length, everyone cheers.

           “ _Woooo!_ Dustin~!” The guys shout, pumping their fists as the girls whistle and clap. Even Lori Ganivet, sitting in the middle of her group of friends at the back of the room, makes some noise.

           These are his classmates. Sometimes, Dustin can’t tell if they like him or hate him, but he decides to take their cheering as a compliment this time. He waves at them as he walks through them, his face most likely red from embarrassment and shyness, and he takes his seat near the front of the room. So much for opening up immediately.

           Yin Yue usually sits closest to the teacher’s desk, to Dustin’s left. He is confused to see that she is not in the room yet. He’s kind of late… Yin Yue is _never_ late.

           He decides to take the benefit of the doubt and believes that she is simply running late for once. To calm himself, he quietly listens to the things his classmates scream at each other about. This includes spoilers to the latest TV shows, such as _The Walking Dead_ , but Dustin doesn’t mind, since he doesn’t even have cable or Netflix, and as such doesn’t really watch these shows.

           The teacher arrives and Dustin is surprised when everyone, at once, asks the same question with different phrasing: “Where’s Yin Yue?”

           The teacher seems confused. “You guys didn’t hear?” He says casually. “She moved to New Providence over the summer.”

           Dustin drowns out the rest by sinking his head into his arms on his desk. Of course she has to be gone now that he’s ready to confess his feelings for her. _Of course._

* * *

 

 ** _40.713641, -74.362059_**.

           It’s now December.

           Jack Kingson walks Dustin Patefield home in the snow. The snowfall has been rather heavy until today, creating giant banks of snow on the sides of the roads and turning fields of grass into deep snow piles.

           So far, Jack’s relationship with Dustin has been a strangely tight-knit one. Right now, however, their relationship is stronger than ever.  
           Dustin typically talks to Jack about his issues; for example, he has told Jack about his imaginary friend, Eternal, in great lengths. Jack is very interested by this, and this makes Dustin happy, which in turn makes Jack happy.

           “You know,” Dustin stammers nervously as they walk now, “Whenever I talk to you, everything seems… better, almost. I feel _happy._ I’m really glad I met you, Jack.”

           Jack looks at Dustin after he says this. “You’re blushing.”

           “Am not!” The boy laughs.

           The duo share a jolly moment, and then there is a small bout of awkward silence.

           “Actually, Dustin… If I’m not mistaken, I do owe you a few hugs…” Jack says suddenly. Dustin sometimes enjoys spamming Jack with a certain emoticon, and every time he does, Jack threatens to hug him as punishment. They’ve got a tally going as to how many hugs Dustin now requires. “About thirteen of them, if I remember correctly.”

           “Nope. That number is zero.” Dustin chirps in response.

           “Remember what I said about thirteen hugs?”

           “Nope.”

           “Thirteen hugs can be converted to one kiss and one hug.”

           “Nope.” Dustin says again.

           Jack opens his arms for the one hug, leaning in closer to Dustin. He doesn’t actually intend to hug his friend; he simply intends to scare him.  
           In a response that is rather humorous, Dustin locks up, makes a high-pitched “ _nnnnnnnn_ ” noise, and begins to tip away from Jack.

           Suddenly, however, due to ice, Dustin loses his footing and begins to slip toward a pile of snow. Jack instinctively shoots his arm out and grabs Dustin, pulling him back up.  
           The bad condition of the sidewalk unfortunately then causes Jack to topple backwards, and he ends up being the one in the snow, except he now has Dustin lying flat on top of him.

           Dustin’s body is as stiff as a board. He dislikes physical contact in general, and now here he is _inches from giving Jack his_ _supposedly-owed kiss._ The two boys can almost feel each other’s heartbeats through their coats as much as they can feel their breath on each other’s faces.

           “Well then.” Jack says suddenly, breaking the tension.

           Dustin quickly rolls off of Jack, gets up, and begins burying him with snow whilst yelling playful insults at him. When Dustin returns home shortly after, his brother asks him if he had been fighting with a yeti, to which he simply answers, “Yes.”


	5. A Shift

**_40.720815, -74.363861_**.

           Jack Kingson sits at home in front of his computer. He has Skype open, since MSN has long since gone defunct, and he is currently talking to Dylan Cronin and Dustin Patefield, both separately.  
           However, he already knows which one he _prefers_ reading messages from.

           Dylan is currently running his mouth about a fight he and his girlfriend, Jacqlyn Brown, had been in a few moments ago. Something about him not being capable of serious conversation. In all honesty, Jack feels as though he has to agree with Jacqlyn in this case; Dylan hardly ever has anything serious to say, it would seem.

           Dustin, meanwhile, is kindly telling Jack how happy he is to talk to him, even though they now converse every day.

           Deciding to simply ignore Dylan, Jack reads Dustin’s shyly typed messages as his huge dog walks over and puts its paws up onto his leg. He stands up, rubbing the dog’s fluffy ear, and heads over to the door, opening it for his well-trained pet, which trots outside.

           Leaning in the doorway out to the backyard, Jack takes in a deep breath of the chilly winter air and allows himself to get lost in thought. He recalls the moment from a few days earlier, when he slipped and dragged Dustin down with him. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to forget the look on Dustin’s face, the wideness of his eyes, particularly his pupils.

           ‘ _Wide pupils usually suggests making eye contact with something loved._ ’ Jack thinks, remembering an article he had skimmed online once when he was bored.

           When the dog returns, Jack closes the door again and returns to his computer. Dustin, luckily for him, hasn’t really asked for him to say anything yet.  
           However, upon returning, he is suddenly asked, “Are you and Sherrie still together?”

           Jack responds, “Yeah, somehow. She’s taken to calling me Wacky Jacky.”

           This makes Dustin laugh, or so the ‘lol’ he sends implies. “Wacky Jacky? That’s catchy.”

           “Oh, don’t make me give you a nickname.”

           “Try me.” Dustin challenges lightheartedly.

           Jack thinks for a long moment. “… Busty Dusty.”

           Dustin bursts into hysterical laughter, so Jack joins him. Of course, for Jack at least, this laughter is only expressed in text. When this so-called laughter ends, a strange silence lingers over the conversation, and Jack feels the powerful urge to break it.

           “If you ever need me to do anything for you.” He says seriously, “Just give me a kiss or an apple.”

           Dustin says nothing, as he is unsure how to respond.

           “… Or just ask me. Depends on what it is.”

           “… Okay.” Dustin replies awkwardly.

           “I love me a big juicy apple.”

           “… I don’t know why, but you saying that just made me laugh so hard right now I just don’t.”

           Jack chuckles. He’s glad that he’s able to make Dustin happy, especially considering the near-constant abuse the poor kid faces from the people he calls friends. He’s also very much glad that he can share his problems with Dustin. It’s not very often that people listen to _his_ problems, but Dustin actually pays attention and sometimes even comes up with halfway-decent advice.

           A lot of people lean on Jack for support. Jack, at the petite boy’s constant request, leans on Dustin.

           He couldn’t be happier.

* * *

 

 ** _40.720379, -74.370984_**.

           June of 2014 has come. The school year is ending, thus so is grade eleven.

           Dustin Patefield, wearing a jean jacket over his white t-shirt as he feels uncomfortable being out of the house with his bare arms showing no matter the temperature, walks into his first semester homeroom to pick up his report card.

           However, his teacher is not there. Instead, there is a tan-skinned man in the room, sitting behind the teacher’s desk.

           Despite the heat, he’s wearing _two_ dark-colored undershirts, an unzipped black sweater, and a thick black blazer. His black hair is messy, and he’s staring down at the desk with wide eyes, his body trembling like a dying leaf.

           Dustin is almost afraid to move, but he wants to get home, so against his better judgment he gently knocks on the door.

           The man lifts his head, now looking at Dustin with heavily-bagged green eyes. He seems tense, and Dustin can’t help but get a bad feeling. “Oh… Hello.”

           “Hi…” Dustin awkwardly pulls his hand back. “… Um, I’m Dustin Patefield… I just came to pick up my report card, so…”

           The man again lowers his head, but this time he digs through a pile of white papers. “Just hold on for a second, Dustin…” As he says this, he sounds rather depressed.

           “… So, uh, are you a sub or something? What’s your name?”

           “Ragsdale. And, yeah, I’m…” Mr. Ragsdale sighs heavily. “I’m a substitute. Used to be a teacher in Michigan up until a few days ago.”

           “You aren’t now?” Dustin asks before he thinks.

           “Got fired.” Mr. Ragsdale faces Dustin, handing him his report card while feigning a smile. As he takes the report card, Dustin realizes just how tall his regular teacher must be, as Ragsdale is only about an inch taller than him.

           “I… I honestly don’t know why they fired me.” Ragsdale adds with a shrug. “Maybe I was too much of a goofball with the way I taught my class. I don’t know.”

           “You really like being a teacher, huh? What did you teach?”

           Ragsdale nods solemnly. “English. I, uh… I taught English.”

           “Oh. That sounds cool.”

           “Yeah.”

           There is a long, awkward pause where neither male knows what to say. Dustin decides that at this point, he just wants to get the hell away from the vaguely-creepy Mr. Ragsdale.

           “Well, I guess I should get going now.” Patefield mumbles.

           “Alright.”

           As Dustin leaves the room, Ragsdale calls after him, “Keep up the good grades through grade twelve, Dustin!”

           “I’ll try!” Dustin briefly pokes his head back into the room, giving the strange substitute a thumbs up before heading on his way, glad to be headed home.

* * *

 

 ** _40.714074, -74.370036_**.

           September has arrived. It is a new year for Dustin Patefield.

           It is the _worst_ year for Dustin Patefield.

           Everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong. Dustin now finds himself alone all day, trying desperately to avoid Sherrie Lowe, who to him spells nothing but trouble.

           In the process of avoiding Sherrie, Dustin is also physically avoiding Jack Kingson.  
           ‘ _A necessary sacrifice._ ’ Dustin thinks to himself.

           The loneliness is beginning to wear on him. He can no longer sleep without his eyes showing him grotesque situations, such as hooks stabbing through his feet, and himself butchering his love interest, Yin Yue Shan.  
           The latter, however, is more frequent.

           Today, Dustin walks down the street toward his house, followed closely by his “imaginary friend”, Eternal, as always.

           “Why are you so moody?” Eternal asks with his high, shaky voice. “It’s not like this isn’t exactly what you wanted.”

           Dustin says nothing. He simply keeps his head up and refuses to acknowledge the hallucination walking beside him.

           “You’ve always wanted to be left alone. Now you’re being left alone. Why are you _mad_ about that?”

           Dustin still says nothing.

           “Hey, answer me. Dustin?”

           Eternal stops and watches as Dustin continues walking, leaving him behind.

           The loneliness is beginning to wear on him. He has always wanted, subconsciously, to be left alone.

           And left alone, _entirely alone_ , he will be.

* * *

 

 ** _40.720379, -74.370984_**.

           It’s around the beginning of October, and Dustin is not feeling quite like himself. He’s very moody and angsty all the time for some reason. Eternal has not shown himself since being abandoned.

           During lunch hour today, Dustin does what he has been doing since September; he wanders the halls, praying that he doesn’t bump into Sherrie Lowe.

           He does not bump into Sherrie Lowe. However, he is incredibly surprised when he instead bumps into David Henseler.

           He says nothing, simply staring up at the tall, brutish brunette boy who used to be a close friend. For a long moment they just kind of stare at each other like this.

           “Well, hello there, asshole.” David jokes, finally breaking the silence.

           Dustin does not find this funny.

           A few minutes later, the fractured duo sit together on the stairs in one of the empty stairwells down to the school’s first floor. Dustin sits with his legs crossed, and he is completely engrossed in a drawing that he is coloring.

           David is bored without Dustin’s attention on him, so he begins teasingly nudging Dustin’s arm as he colors whilst stifling a few snickers.

           “Stop,” Dustin warns gruffly, his voice deeper than David remembers; however, this doesn’t stop the much-more-athletic male from continuing to bother his “friend”.

           This occurs for a few minutes more before Dustin abruptly stops drawing. If David were to look at Dustin’s face, he would see the strange, detached look on the boy’s face and stop, but unfortunately for him he doesn’t.

           Rather calmly, Dustin puts his pencil back into his bag and digs around a little bit.

           Next thing David knows, he’s lying on the floor that was initially below the two of them, and he’s in horrible pain. He cannot see anything out of his left eye, and that is where it hurts the most.

           “ _AAAAGH! FUCK!_ ” He screams as he clutches at his eye, only to find that something is protruding from it.

           David hears Dustin walk down the steps toward him, and in response he opens his right eye as much as he can; Dustin is now bent over, looking down at him with his hands limply dangling beside himself.

           “I chose the brown Sharpie to stab you with because it matched your eyes, and I chose your left eye because I’m left-handed.” The dark-haired boy drones in an uncharacteristically cold, socially-withdrawn voice. “I made sure I got no blood onto myself. Now, I will give you a choice.”

           “ _FUCK YOU!_ ” David chokes in pain, “ _YOU’RE FUCKING INSANE!_ ”

           “You can rat me out and have everyone laugh that such a scrawny, weak, feminine young boy made you cry out for mercy,” Dustin continues, ignoring David’s protest, “Or you can save yourself some pride by saying that you accidentally did this to yourself.”

           David’s eye widens, trying to find out by Dustin’s face whether or not the boy is serious.

           “If you choose the former, I might as well take out your other eye…” Dustin growls.

           Moments later, the staff are startled out of their minds when a frantic Dustin Patefield runs in, asking for help quickly, and saying that a student has been hurt badly in some sort of unspecified accident.

* * *

 

 ** _40.720379, -74.370984_**.

           Final exams are over. Now, the high school is having its graduation ceremony for grade twelve students.

           Names are being called. Jack Kingson, Sherrie Lowe, and all of the others sit among the crowd of students; even David Henseler is present, wearing a black eyepatch over his left eye.

           One by one, all of them but Sherrie Lowe are called; Sherrie has failed the grade, and must repeat the courses. She’s only here for Jack.

           The next name called is Dustin Patefield. Dustin goes up on stage rather unenthusiastically considering the occasion, and he shakes the hands of the staff members he has worked with, even indirectly.

           The boy takes his diploma, wearing the same plaid shirt he has worn since he was four years old; it is still too big on him, and some of the audience members, wearing formal attire, question his decision to wear it.

           He doesn’t care about their opinions.

           He is _happy_.


	6. I Love You!

**_40.617779, -74.244446_**.

 ** _January 20 th, 2017_**.

            Dustin Patefield paces to and fro in an airport. He is currently trying to catch a flight to Europe with his co-worker to hand-deliver a script he has written out; he has in the timespan of a little more than a year nabbed a job as a novice screenwriter of movies so underrated that they often abjectly flop.

            His flight isn’t due for half an hour, however… or at least, it wasn’t a few moments ago; now it has been pushed up to arrive in ten minutes. Yet his co-worker hadn’t shown up yet. He is pacing because he is trying to decide whether or not to talk to one of the staff running the front desk.

            “Oh, fuck it,” He grumbles under his breath. He shoves the script, which he had been reading over, back into the laptop bag draped over his right shoulder as he walks forward, and he raises his head when he reaches the front desk.  
           “Hi, I-…” He stops.

            Standing before him is a beautiful Chinese girl. The sight of her makes his heart stop, and he slowly lowers his eyes to look at her nametag: “Yin Yue”, it reads.

            “Wait…” He looks back up at her face. “Yin?”

            Yin Yue takes a long blink of confusion. “How may I help you, sir?” She asks, not quite recognizing him. Her English has improved immensely, but she still happens to have a rather thick (to Dustin, cute) Chinese accent.

            Dustin can’t stop a smile from spreading across his face. “Yin, it’s me! Dustin! We were in high school together, remember? I was the quirky kid you sometimes worked with!”

            Yin Yue pauses for a second, but then her face brightens. “Dustin! I remember you now!”

            “I see you got a job as a front desk clerk. You wanted to travel the world, didn’t you?”

            Yin Yue nods. “Yes. I still do. I just need to make some money for that first.”

            Dustin does not respond immediately. He thinks for a long moment, averting his eyes.

            “What do you need, Dustin?”

            Dustin thinks about his trip to Europe. He is scared to death of boarding a plane, as he’s never done so before. Also, the script he has to deliver is only one of many the director will be receiving; it is a contest.

            Technically, he does not have to deliver it by hand…

            “Um,” He mumbles, tapping his fingers nervously on the desk. “Well, I… Hell, I’ll just say it… Do you want to maybe… go out for dinner later tonight… or when your shift ends…?” As he finishes, he sort of cringes, preparing to be turned down.

            Yin Yue responds rather quickly by placing her hands together in front of her chest and nodding with a smile. “I go off-shift at noon, actually.”

            The PA system announces loudly that Dustin’s flight is now boarding, and he wonders briefly how ten minutes had already passed before coming to the conclusion that the time was wrong.

            “Alright. I’ll, uh, I’ll pick you up here in,” He looks at his watch, “An hour and a half, then. How does that sound?”

            Yin Yue nods again. “… Do you have a flight?”

            Dustin smiles sheepishly. “Not anymore, I presume.”

* * *

 

 ** _53.426448, -6.249910_**.

            Dylan Cronin sits anxiously inside an airport a month after Dustin Patefield and Yin Yue start dating. He is waiting here for Jacqlyn Brown to arrive; after all these years, he has finally coaxed her into moving to Ireland to meet him in person.

            He has made two long trips, one to get to The Pavilion, and then the other to get here. He’s just praying he didn’t make the trips and spend the huge sum of money for nothing.

            So far he’s been waiting for twenty minutes.

            Twenty more go by before finally he hears that the Canadian flight he’s been waiting for is now disembarking. He quickly jumps to his feet and lets out a shaky breath. He checks his pocket for the lone item he purchased at a store within The Pavilion, and then he tries to act natural.

            A few minutes later, and with a crowd of people, out comes Jacqlyn Brown. Over the years since he’d stopped seeing pictures of her as frequently, she had been right when she said that she hadn’t really changed at all. She was still petite and skinny, whilst wearing the most unflattering, unfeminine clothes anyone had ever seen on a young woman. It was almost as if she was trying to look like a man… which wasn’t exactly unlike her.

            Even so, Dylan sees her and mistakes her for an angel fallen from the sky. He shoots his arms into the air with a big, dopey grin on his face and runs toward her. “JACQLYN~!”

            Jacqlyn feigns a smile, mouths “Hi,” and opens her arms; when Dylan reaches her, he lifts her into the air and spins, making her emit a happy little squeal.

            When he puts her down, he holds onto her shoulders, and looking down at her he says, “I’m going to do this right here, right now, before I lose the nerve and shite my pants later from fear.”

            Jacqlyn raises a brow with a cocky smirk on her face. “What, are you gonna kiss me?”

            “Not yet, Dear.” This said, he takes a step away from her and slowly drops down onto one knee.

            “Wait, what?” Jacqlyn mutters as she recoils a bit.

            “Jacqlyn Brown, the light of my life…” Dylan pulls from his pocket a little black box and opens it, revealing an expensive, beautiful golden ring adorned with garnets, diamonds, and rubies. “… Will you marry me?”

            A bit of a crowd has formed around them; some are recording, while others are simply gawking in surprise and admiration.

            Jacqlyn stares at the ring with her mouth shut tightly and her hands pressed against her sternum. Her face is blank, but slowly reddening.

            A long moment of silence follows.

            “… Well, you haven’t left me with much choice other than to say yes, have you?” She responds, somewhat bitterly.

            Dylan takes this as a yes, so he stands and slips the ring onto his new fiancée’s ring finger. Then, he swoops in and catches her off-guard, enough so to steal her first kiss.

            The crowd around them cheers wildly.

* * *

 

 ** _40.712464, -74.368244_**.

            Dustin Patefield is doing things on his laptop when suddenly Dylan Cronin gets online on Skype and starts vomiting up text at him.

            “OH MY GOD, DUSTY!” He types.

            “What is it?”

            “YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED!”

            “We won’t know until you tell me, will we?” Dustin feels a surge of déjà vu, but can’t place his finger upon why.

            “IT’S JACQLYN! SHE MOVED OVER HERE AND NOW WE’RE GETTING FUCKIN’ MARRIED!”

            Dustin feels himself pale a bit. “You’re _what?_ ”

            “We’re getting married!”

            “She _agreed_ to this?”

            “Yeah! The second she arrived as the airport, I just up and popped the question, and she said yes! I’m just so fuckin’ happy!”

            “Well… Good for you, Dylan!” Dustin tries to feign happiness, but he’s had trouble feeling anything for anyone ever since grade eleven, so he really doesn’t actually care all that much; more than anything he just kind of wants Dylan to stop talking.

            “Dude, I want you to come to my bachelor party so bad!”

            Dustin decides not to mention the mildly recent but never used ticket to Europe that he possesses. “I’m really sorry, I can’t. I’ve got work and stuff here, and I’ve got Yin here too.”

            “I understand. I just wish you could come. Could we at least video chat for it?”

            “I don’t have a webcam.” Dustin says this as he glances at his webcam, which is currently, and always, unplugged, but still functional to his knowledge.

            “Bollocks.”

            Dustin thinks. Dylan has married Jacqlyn…

            He wonders if he should marry Yin Yue Shan; tie the knot and make sure she’ll never leave him for some tall Korean guy.

            “Should I propose to Yin?”

            This question catches Dylan horrifically off-guard, but he, regardless, replies, “Go for it, Dusty.”

            Two months later, after saving up for quite some time, Dustin proposes to Yin Yue. She says yes, with tears of glee streaking her beautiful face.


	7. Please Stop

  ** _40.714932, -74.366529_**.

           Dustin Patefield sits at a table with Jack Kingson, Sherrie Lowe, and some other estranged friends of his that Jack had contacted while planning this bachelor party.

           “Jack,” Dustin says as they sit, waiting for their orders to be brought to them, “It was really kind of you to set this up. Thank you.”

           Jack smiles. “It’s no problem.” As he says this, Sherrie glares at Dustin. She has tried to be friendly tonight, but her patience is beginning to wane.  
           “I’m really happy for you, Dustin.” Jack adds. “Really, I mean it.”

           “Don’t say that like I don’t believe you, Jack, because I do!” Dustin giggles a little bit.

           Jack feigns a smile back at him. Ever since David Henseler lost his left eye, Dustin has changed; he can tell due to the lack of life in those once-vibrant light blue eyes of his.

           Jack figures that the reason for this marriage is not what everyone else believes it to be. Dustin is not proposing so much out of love, though he does indeed _love_ Yin Yue Shan, but rather out of the desperate need to _not be alone_. He has not been there for the one he used to lean against for support. And because of this, he will likely spend the rest of his waking days trying to make up for his absence.

           Other than these underlying negative emotions, the night goes well, and it’s not long before Jack is proposing to Sherrie.

           “Sure,” She replies nonchalantly, “I’ll be your fiancée. But I don’t want to legally tie the knot for a while.”

           This isn’t the first time that Jack has sensed that Sherrie may be cheating on him.

* * *

 

 ** _40.712643, -74.354600_**.

 ** _May 10 th, 2018_**.

           Dustin Patefield sits in the waiting room of the hospital, tapping his feet against the floor nervously.

           He is here because his wife, Yin Yue Patefield (formerly Shan), is in labor, about to give birth to his child. He can’t believe that he’s only twenty-one, and yet now he’s going to be a father in just a short while.

           That is, of course, considering everything goes well and that Yin Yue and/or the kid don’t end up dying.

           He’s a nervous wreck. He’s scared about being a father, and he’s scared that something horrible is going to happen to his children or even his wife, the love of his life.

           After a short time, a doctor, with black hair if one disregards the bleach blond streak, comes over to him, and he realizes that he’s been crying a little. This doctor is either the bearer of terrible news or of happy news. The grim look on his face is no help to pointing at the latter.

           “Is my child alright…?” Dustin asks hoarsely. “And my wife…?”

           The doctor, whose nametag reads “Dr. Cheshire”, nods. “Yes, Mr. Patefield. You’re now the father of a beautiful, healthy baby girl.”

           Dustin smiles and clasps his hands, between his legs, facing down toward the floor as he trembles out of sheer relief.

           “However, your wife is still in labor. It appears you’re going to be the father of _two_ young rascals as opposed to one.”

           Dustin raises his head and looks up at the tired doctor. “Are you serious?”

           “Indeed I am.”

           Dustin smiles once more.

           It isn’t until 2:30 AM that Yin Yue gives birth to another healthy baby girl, though this one is considerably smaller than the first and initially doesn’t cry. Once Dustin is in the room with Yin Yue, who is drenched in sweat and exhausted, he rushes to her side and holds her hand.

           “Yin, I’m so happy.”

           Yin smiles weakly up at him.

           A nurse brings in the infants and allows Dustin to hold the first baby girl, born three and a half hours earlier, as she is somewhat heavier and might therefore be more difficult for Yin Yue to hold in her current state.

           “My God,” Dustin gasps, tears clouding his vision. “They’re beautiful. Aren’t they beautiful, Yin?”

           “Yes… They are…” Yin Yue replies, smiling broadly at her newborn daughter.

           “What do you want to name them, Yin?”

           Yin Yue pauses for a moment. “I’m sorry… I don’t have any English names in mind…”

           “I don’t mind if they don’t have English names. Just so long as I can say them…” He jokes gently.

           As such, the children were named Xia Jing and Yu Qi respectively.

* * *

 

 ** _53.466215, -6.219951_**.

 ** _July 10 th, 2019_**.

           Dylan Cronin stands in his house beside his wife, Jacqlyn, surrounded by his friends. It is his 23rd birthday today, and he’s having a big party to celebrate.

           The doorbell rings.

           “Hold on, Mark,” He says to his cousin, “I have to answer this.”

           Dylan steps to the door and swings it open… and then freezes in place, staring outside with his mouth agape.

           “Hello, Dylan…” says Dustin Patefield, who kicks the gravel path to the door awkwardly, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans and the tails of his baggy dark red and blue plaid shirt spilling over his arms.

           “… Dust-… -in…? Dustin Patefield? Dusty?!”

           “Yeah, it’s me…”

           “HOLY SHIT!” Dylan lunges forward and hugs the man in front of him tightly.

           Jacqlyn steps out into the doorway. “Hey, Dusty. You look different since I’ve last seen you. You’re what now; six foot one?”

           “Six foot three.” Dustin corrects. “I guess I take after my father; my mother was only five foot five.”

           “You’ve got some sexy stubble going, Dusty!” Dylan teases, though he means what he says to a certain degree.

           “Just for the record, Dylan, I didn’t come here to party.”

           “Aw, why not? What else are you going to do?”

           “I came here to say Happy Birthday to your face. My presence is your present. I can’t stand parties…”

           “So are you staying or not?” Jacqlyn asks.

           “I guess I might as well. But just make sure no one talks to me, okay, Dylan?”

           Throughout the length of the party, Dustin remains rather isolated in the corner of the room. He speaks mostly to Jacqlyn.

           When the party ends and everyone is gone but Dustin, Dylan starts up as mature a conversation as he can. He’s never been very good at being serious, which is strange considering his wife and his best friend are both morbidly solemn.

           “So, Dustin… How long are you staying?” He asks.

           “I’m probably leaving sometime tomorrow morning.”

           “No way! Stay a little, Dusty!”

           “I can’t.”

           “Why not?”

           “I’ve got kids to look after. Yin will need help around the house and with them.”

           Dylan is quiet for a moment. “Why am I the last person to hear that you’ve got kids now? How old are they?”

           “They’re twin girls, both one. Names are Xia Jing and Yu Qi.”

           “Pretty names,” Jacqlyn purrs.

           Dustin nods.

           The next morning, Dustin leaves for New Providence, New Jersey, leaving Dylan and Jacqlyn Cronin to their own hectic lives to return to his own boring one.

* * *

 

 ** _40.715023, -74.400618_**.

 ** _August 16 th, 2019_**. **_12:00 AM_**.

           It is a night like any other. The sky is dark, and the only noise is the occasional bark of a dog or the hum of a passing car.

           Inside the house of Dustin and Yin Yue Patefield, the sound of the shower running fills the house, as the bathroom door is open. Simply stepping into the house would fill one’s nose with the smell of copper or iron, as the house has quite recently received a fresh paint job.

           A small body surrounded by this _paint_ lays on the carpet in the living room.

           In the bathroom, Dustin Patefield showers silently. This _paint_ drips from his wet skin and sinks into the drain, drop by drop.

           The mirror is smashed and smeared with _paint_. Bottles of medication from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror have been thrown around, and Dustin’s clothes lay in a bundled heap on the floor by the tub in which Dustin stands.

           Upstairs, Yin Yue lays in bed on her back. Her eyes are open, but clouded over. The _paint_ is all over her and the bed, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it considering her stillness.

           As Dustin showers, he neglects his hair. It remains dry for a short while; like this, it is messy and tangled as though someone has been tugging at it. Soon he soaks it, and it goes from a dark purple color to as black as the night sky outside.

           His eyes are closed. He never wants to open them. He never wants to see what he did again.

           Alas, the memories display themselves in his head over and over, both versions; what he saw, and what he presumes was reality.

           Dustin had been looking into the mirror after brushing his teeth. However, something about the reflection felt wrong, so he turned away for a moment. Then, he fell to the floor - _was shoved to the floor by Eternal, who was suddenly behind him._

           “E-Eternal…?” He asked, terrified.

_Eternal only smirked at him._

           “What are you—…?”

_“Stand up.”_

           Dustin stood up and went into the kitchen, where he picked up the knife from the drawer - _watched Eternal pick up the knife._

           “What are you going to do with that, Eternal…?”

_“You never used to have anyone but me, Dustin. I like it that way.”_

_Eternal shoved past him, and he turned to grab Eternal’s arm; in response Eternal swiped the blade at him_ – turned the knife on his own hand, cutting his palm open. _He briskly walked out of the room._

           “Don’t hurt them, Eternal!” Dustin screamed.

           Dustin - _Eternal_ \- stomped up the stairs. He opened the door to the room all four of them shared; Yin Yue was stands against the foot of the bed, the kids, Xia Jing and Yu Qi, huddled on the bed behind her.

           “Stop!” Dustin screamed _as he chased Eternal up the stairs._

           “Dustin…?” Yin Yue asked with a shaky tone.

           Dustin raised the knife - _watched Eternal raise the knife above his head._

           “STOP!”

_Eternal lunged forward; Yin Yue dodged the swipe and punched him in the stomach swiftly, though it was a weak punch._

           Screaming, Yu Qi and Xia Jing ran out of the room.

_Dustin watched from the doorway in horror as Eternal finally struck Yin Yue; he smacked her across the face with the back of his hand hard enough to throw her to the floor._

           “GET AWAY FROM HER!” Dustin screamed. _He threw himself at Eternal, only to be punched in the face. He wouldn’t go down so easily… But then Eternal stabbed him in the leg. The blade somehow went right through his left calf, and he screamed._

_“You’re not going anywhere.” Eternal said with a malicious grin._

           Dustin picked Yin up by the collar of her nightgown with strength he hadn’t even known he possessed and threw her onto the bed. He corrected her legs so she was lying down straight across the bed and sat over her legs. Yin Yue hit at his chest, but he was unstoppable.

           With one swift plunge, the knife stabbed her right in the center of her chest.

           He ripped the knife out carelessly only to stab it right back in a couple centimeters from the initial wound. He did this over and over, not caring how Yin Yue tightly gripped his shirt for a short while, or how she screamed, or how her pretty face contorted so from the pain.

_Dustin helplessly watched as Eternal stood from the bed, covered in the life blood of his wife._

           “No…” He murmured, tears streaming down his face. He clutched at his head, mussing up his hair. _Only his leg had been hurt, but he could not move much at all regardless._

_“Now for the munchkins.” Eternal remarked gleefully as he wiped the knife “clean” on his bloody shirt._

           “No…! No, please… Please don’t hurt my daughters…!”

_“Maybe if you gave them up for adoption or something this wouldn’t have had to happen.” With this, Eternal left Dustin to scream alone._

           Dustin does not remember anything more than this. The next thing he knew, he was covered in blood standing in front of a broken mirror. Then he apathetically stripped and stepped into the shower. The water is burning hot, but Dustin doesn’t bother to correct the temperature.

           He soon steps out when he determines himself to be clean enough, and he throws his shirt on immediately after getting out; he leaves the rest of the clothes on the floor, getting a new pair of jeans from upstairs. He returns downstairs and makes a quick phone call, pulling the number, written on a slip of paper, out of an obscure page in one of his various health-related textbooks.

           “Lionel,” He says into the receiver in a cold voice. “It’s me. It’s _time_.”


	8. Betrayal

**_53.466215, -6.219951_**.

           Dylan Cronin is taking a walk in his neighborhood for once, because he feels he needs to stretch his legs.

           His relationship with Jacqlyn, while he loves her with all his heart, has been rather boring and lackluster thus far. He can’t help but wonder how Dustin’s marriage must be going; surely his friend’s must be more exciting than whatever he has with Jacqlyn…

           As he walks, he bumps into someone on the street, and proceeds to take a step back, at which point he freezes, moving only his head.

           The person in front of him is wearing Dustin’s red plaid shirt, over top of which he wears a black and blue invertible sweater and a long, thin black coat with lots of buttons along the sides of the three panels the bottom branches into. His petite, skinny hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his dark jeans. He has Dustin’s hair, though the tips of it have been bleached and dyed a deep blond color. The man, with noticeable stubble and pale skin, looks at Dylan with heavily bagged striking light blue eyes.

           “D-… Dustin…?” Dylan stumbles on words. “You… came back…?”

           Dustin nods slowly, misery clear in his eyes.

           “Oh, _Dusty!_ ” Dylan can’t contain himself, and he throws himself forward, hugging the two-inch-taller man tightly. “Are you going to stay this time? Please say yes!”

           “You know I’m not a liar, Dylan. Not like you.”

           A faint stab of pain, and these are the last words Dylan hears for a while.

* * *

 

 ** _45.461022, 12.306404_**.

           Dylan wakes up, his vision speckled with black spots. He groans and struggles to make sense of his surroundings.

           “You’re awake? Christ almighty, those drugs really did a number on you. You’ve been out for almost an entire day.”

           “Nnnh… Duh… Dustin…?”

           “Open your eyes, Dylan.”

           Dylan obeys. “Wh-why’s everything moving like that…? What’s that noise…?”

           “That noise is a boat engine, Dylan~!” Dustin replies, speaking as though he were communicating with a child, while he places a hand upon the back of the chair Dylan is restrained to and leans over him. His long, two-toned bangs brush and dangle against Dylan’s nose, and he is grinning insanely in the close proximity. To Dylan it almost feels as if Dustin’s eyes are probing into his very being, and he gulps at the sensation.

           “Wh-where am I…?” Dylan stammers.

           Dustin’s grin sobers into a slight frown. “Nowhere, yet.”

           Dylan rolls his eyes. “Then where am I going?”

           Dustin tilts his head up a bit, a cheeky smile sneaking its way back onto his gaunt face. He begins giggling, now moving away from Dylan and pacing to the middle of the room with his black coat swaggering behind him.

           “What’s so funny?” Dylan asks, furrowing his brows in frustration. When he gets no answer but for Dustin’s insane giggling, he continues, “Dustin, what happened to you?”

           Dustin abruptly stops giggling, and stops in his tracks, staring up at the corner of the ceiling. After a couple of seconds, he lets out a sigh, looks down at the floor, and shoves his hands back into his jean pockets.

           Dylan waits quietly for an answer, beginning to feel the first touches of actual fear.

           “That isn’t your concern.” Dustin finally says, albeit quietly. “In fact, soon enough, _nothing_ will be your concern.”

           “But you’re not acting like yourself.” Dylan argues. “I’m worried about you, Dust—”

           Dustin whips around, glaring at Dylan, and he shouts in determined anger, “ _I am no longer the weak, tender-hearted boy you once knew, Dylan!_ ”

           Dylan is taken aback, now truly afraid that he is in danger. He begins struggling against his restraints until Dustin stomps forward and grips his shoulders tightly with his spindly, thin fingers.

           “ _I am **no longer** Dustin Patefield!_ ” He roars, shaking Dylan a bit. “ _I am now **Ruler Eternal!**_ ”

           Dylan gives Dustin a strange look, to which Dustin responds with only a wide smile. Looking into his friend’s eyes, Dylan can no longer recognize him; he can see only sorrow and madness.

           “D-Dustin,” He stutters, “P-please, _think_ about this…”

           “I’ve thought about it long and hard. I will not hesitate any longer. You are an obstacle. You _must_ be _removed._ ”

           Just as this is said, the boat comes to a slow halt. ‘Ruler Eternal’ slowly turns his head, grinning at the doorway.

           “It looks like we’re here.” He chimes to no one in particular before again facing Dylan. He raises his hand to hit Dylan across the head, but pauses to say, “Take this as a compliment, Dylan,” before he finally swings.

* * *

 

 ** _45.380905, 12.330823_**.

           When Dylan awakens this time, he finds his shoulders to be incredibly uncomfortable. “Ugh… What…?” He groans. In trying to put his hands to his face, he discovers both that his jacket is missing and that his arms are restrained above his head.

           “Ah, _finally_ , you’re awake again. Seriously, I feel like I’ve _aged_ since I last knocked you out.”

           “What the hell is this…?” Dylan groggily asks about the hand restraints as he struggles against them.

           “A precaution. I’m not gonna be arrogant and say that I’m invulnerable. If you were free, we both know you could beat the shit out of me and I wouldn’t be able to do a goddamned thing.”

           “I would never—do that—!” Dylan chokes out as he continues struggling.

           “I wouldn’t bother with that, Dylan. You can’t get free of those restraints.”

           “Bull—shite—!”

           “Really, you can’t. Stop it now; you’re hurting your wrists.”

           Dylan stops and, panting, glares at Ruler Eternal to demand, “What do you want from me?”

           Ruler Eternal grins again. Dylan discovers that they are in a very dusty area, as if the building around them was completely deserted and possibly in ruins elsewhere.

           “I want to help you.” The tall but unhealthily-skinny madman announces at last.

           “ _Help_ me?!” Dylan shouts, exasperated. “You call this _helping_ me?! Take me back to Jacqlyn _immediately!_ ”

           Ruler Eternal begins to chuckle.

           “What’s so funny…?”

           Ruler Eternal then bursts into insane, hysterical laughter.

           “ _WHAT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY?!_ ”

           “ _Jacqlyn?!_ You want to see _Jacqlyn?!_ She _never loved_ you, Dylan!”

           Dylan snarls in unbelievable rage at the man who used to be his best friend.

           “Take that back, _NOW!_ It’s _NOT_ true!”

           “I don’t lie, Dylan.” Ruler Eternal reminds him bitterly.

           “ _Fuck you!_ Let me down from here right now and take me back to my wife!”

           “Let me put it this way.” Ruler Eternal growls and he wraps his fingers around Dylan’s dark brown hair and tugs, pulling their faces close again. In the close proximity, he whispers…

           “Jacqlyn is _dead_.”

           Dylan freezes for a moment, his heart seeming to stop.

           “I _killed_ her. She’s _gone_. You’re _free_ from her.”

           For a long moment, Dylan can’t figure out what to think.

           “Did you know, Dylan? Before I killed her, she told me she was pregnant. I never pegged her as one to have sex. How’d you make her do it?”

           “ _SHUT UP!_ ” Dylan roars in Ruler Eternal’s face and resumes struggling against his restraints, this time like a wild, uncontainable animal.

           Ruler Eternal pulls back, laughing again. “Well, I think we’ve had enough fun for now, don’t you? It’s time for you to sleep again.”

           “ _FUCK YOU._ STAY AWAY FROM ME, _YOU FUCKING MONSTER!_ ”

           Ruler Eternal raises his hands to his left and claps twice. With this, three masked men in white arrive with a large gurney.

           “It’s time for a little bit of _reconstructive surgery._ ”


	9. Back and Forth

  ** _40.791094, -74.254372_** ** _._**

**_November 17 th, 2019._ **

           The lights in the club bounce and strobe to the beat of the trance/dubstep tracks that fill the ears of anyone who so much as opens the front door. The lighting, for the most part, remains various shades of blue, almost making everyone inside look as though they are drenched in water late at night.

           Within the giant group of people dancing amongst themselves is none other than Lori Ganivet, the girl who many years ago unwittingly danced herself into the heart of Dustin Patefield. Lori currently wears dark see-through tights, black high-heeled boots, and a short, tight black dress. Her wrists are decorated with many bracelets; baubles she has acquired from her plentiful friends as gifts.

           In all honesty, however, she is growing tired of dancing. She feels she needs to take a break, lest she collapse in the middle of the dancefloor and yet again becomes the laughing stalk of her friends. In a bit of a daze, as she is somewhat hammered, Lori click-clacks her way to the bar to sit down. She sits in the middle, and to her left, someone stands leaning against the bar, face buried in a book.

           Curious, she decides to take a closer look at this book; its title is “ _The Armendian Empire: A Journal of The Lord of Fear_ ” and it has no given author but the initials _A.L_.

           ‘ _Oh yeah,_ ’ She recalls, ‘ _That’s that book that was released in 2010 or something._ ’

           “Hey. Excuse me?” She beckons loudly over the blaring music that is beginning to make her head pound. The person lowers the book, and Lori pauses.

           She recognizes this man as Dustin Patefield after a few seconds of thought, though she notices a few major differences in this lighting… one being that his eyes are brown. However, she dismisses this, assuring herself that his eyes have always been brown, and instead focuses on the blond tips in his hair.

           “Yes?” He asks, and his uncharacteristically smooth voice wraps itself around her brain and squeezes.

           Lori is speechless for a long moment. “D-… D-Dustin…? Is… Is that you? Dustin Patefield…?”

           Dustin nods. “Yes, and you…” He thinks for a beat. “You must be… Lori. Lori…”

           “Ganivet.” Lori finishes, grinning like a dope. “God, it’s been a really long time, hasn’t it…?”

           Dustin smiles a little and nods briefly. He looks sad.

           “… How have you been?” Lori asks him, switching seats to sit closer to where he stands.

           “Not well, honestly. A lot of things have happened lately…”

           Lori furrows her brow and frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that…”

           “What about you? What’s a beautiful lady like yourself doing here in a club like this?”

           Lori blushes a tad and giggles. “I should be asking what a smart and handsome young man is doing here…”

           Dustin raises his brow in amusement, at which point Lori realizes that she has said that aloud.

           “Oh, n-n-no, I-…!”

           “Don’t be embarrassed, Lori. It’s cute, but you don’t have to be embarrassed.” Dustin says genuinely. “… Shall I buy you a drink?”

           “Oh… Sure, why not.” Lori replies with a smile. When he orders but one drink, she looks at him funny, and asks, “Aren’t you getting one for yourself?”

           Shaking his head, he replies, “No.”

           “Have you ever even had a drink?”

           It’s Dustin’s turn to blush, and he smiles sheepishly as he averts his eyes.

           “Bartender! One more for my guy friend here!” Lori shouts.

           Lori Ganivet stirs a bit, stealing the sheets to cover her naked body as Ruler Eternal stands up and stretches. He turns back, scratching his messy hair, and looks down at Lori, still asleep.

           “… Beautiful.” He remarks under his breath, though he isn’t sure in what way he means this remark.

           Off of the floor, he picks up his carelessly-thrown boxers, and he proceeds to slip them on. He also picks up his red plaid shirt, now a shade brighter than it used to be, and he drapes it over his bony shoulders.

           Across the room on a small table, next to a pen and a pad of paper, is a rather old-looking landline phone. He walks over to it, picking up the receiver and dialing a number. As he listens to the phone ring, he subconsciously toys with the cord, wrapping and unwrapping it around his index finger. The moment he notices he is doing this, however, he quickly stops.

           Finally the call goes through.

           “Hello?” Ruler Eternal says. “… Yes. … Yes. It’s been done. She’s here, asleep in the bed behind me. … Yes, she’s unconscious.” As he continues, he glances at Lori, concern brewing in his dark brown eyes. “Of course I’ll get her there. It’ll just take some time, since I had to come all the way back to America to get her. … Yes. Yes, of… of course.”

           Ruler Eternal hangs up and stares with guilty eyes at Lori as she turns over under the covers, blissfully unaware of what she’s got herself into.

* * *

 

 **_ 45.381178, 12.331553 _ ** **_._ **

           Ruler Eternal walks down the abandoned trail of the island toward the long-since-deserted prison complex. There are trees everywhere on this abject, desolate little island, and even though they make some part of him deep down somewhat creeped out, he really loves the feeling of isolation the island gives him.

           Taking his time, he walks out of the housing complex, walking around it and heading for the prison building. Walls are covered in foliage and parts of the buildings are rotting away; Ruler Eternal loves this as well. He likes to think of it as the beauty of a collapse, or of destruction.

           The tall man opens the rusty doors into the prison. The only light in the building comes from the barred windows and the holes in the ceiling, which results in certain areas of the building being soaked in shadows. Our antagonist walks calmly through the lobby to the far staircase, his black boots a size to big and creating clomping noises on the stone floor; music to Ruler Eternal’s ears.

           When he thinks about it, Ruler Eternal realizes he would absolutely love to dance a slow tango with someone here. His mind creates for him an imaginary partner as it would’ve in the past, but unlike then, his mind cannot decide on an appearance and instead makes a figure shrouded in darkness and varying in height and gender.

           Ruler Eternal walks forward and places his hand on the small of this partner’s back. “Let’s dance.”

           Music begins in his head, filling his ears, and he leads the dance, holding this imaginary person close. He subconsciously settles for a height around 5’9” for his partner.

           They continue their tango, Ruler Eternal dipping his partner slowly but dramatically. They are entirely on sync with each other until his partner suddenly begins to lead, nearly tripping him up.

           “Oh… Alright, I’ll play that game.” Ruler Eternal purrs softly, moving his hand to his partner’s shoulder.

           The partner does not dip Ruler Eternal all that far, possibly due to the fact that the taller man does not have the ability to tilt himself back very far without losing his balance. They resume their sync, as Ruler Eternal happens to make a better follower than a leader. However, abruptly, while his eyes are closed and he is so lost in the moment, his partner dips him back quickly and deeply, and his breath is taken away, his long hair almost brushing against the floor.

           He takes this opportunity to look up at his partner, and he finds Jack Kingson staring back at him.

           The shock of such a discovery makes Ruler Eternal gasp, and next thing he knows, the music has stopped and he’s collapsed to the floor, his legs no longer able to support his position. He quickly gets turns onto his side, lifting his upper body from the floor and looking around frantically.

           The lobby of the prison is empty and quiet. He is alone here. In all honesty, he actually forgets what he’s doing there in the first place for a long moment. He wonders where his wife and two daughters are; why is he here without them? Everything floods back to him when he hears the faint noise of chains rattling upstairs, and his inner self screams in anguish as it is again pushed back. When he is back to being Ruler Eternal, Dustin stands. He heads upstairs, and walks into the left corridor. He passes a few rooms before stopping in front of one. He now corrects his messy hair slightly, and adjusts his coat. He doesn’t want his moment of weakness to be known.

           Casually, Ruler Eternal pushes the door open. Across the room from him now, illuminated only by the light pouring into the dark room from the hole in the ceiling to his right, is Dylan Cronin.

           Dylan’s head is down, and his wrists are leaking blood due to his immense struggle against his restraints, but there are new additions added to him that Dustin has been admiring for almost two months now.

           On Dylan’s chest is a circular device that shows Dylan’s pulse in lightening waves, bursting out in a circular shape from the middle of the device. This device is attached by four cords to a large self-replenishing power source which makes this device into a life support machine of sorts, and two other cords branch this device down the front of Dylan’s waist. These two cords power the robotic lower body, legs and all, that has been forced onto the man.

           “Dylan.” Ruler Eternal says softly, his voice echoing faintly.

           Dylan slowly lifts his head, albeit only enough to glare with immense hatred at the person who used to be his friend.

           “It really has been fun knowing you, Dylan. I truly have loved every second of torturing you and watching you beg for me to go back to the way I used to be. But, alas, I’m afraid it looks like our time is coming to an end.”

           “What are you talking about.” Dylan demands, not so much a question, in a hoarse voice.

           “I’m leaving, and I’m afraid I won’t be returning anytime soon. You’ll be okay, though. Those chains are bound to break any day now, and seeing as you no longer need to eat or worry about aging…” Saying this, Ruler Eternal gazes at the needle mark on Dylan’s arm. “Thank you, by the way, for helping me test that so-called poison-thing.”

           “If you’re so goddamned ‘ _eternal_ ’, why don’t you use it on yourself?” Dylan asks angrily as Dustin turns to leave the room.

           Ruler Eternal looks back at Dylan over his shoulder with a smug smirk. “Oh, it’s not for me yet. I still need to test it out a bit, or more precisely, see what effects repeated usage has.”

           “You’re _insane!_ ”

           “Goodbye, Dylan.”

           “COME BACK HERE, YOU FUCKER! DON’T YOU FUCKING _DARE_ LEAVE ME HERE! _NOOOO!_ ”

           With Dylan’s screams echoing in his mind, Ruler Eternal leaves the deserted island.

* * *

 

           Ruler Eternal sits against a wall, his eyes squeezed shut. He holds a jet injector in his left hand, filled with a light blue liquid with the viscosity of blood. He has injected this legendary poison into his arm before, but the experience was so unpleasant that he isn’t sure if he wants to do it again.

           This is the Eclipse Poison, originally known as the Eclipse Potion before the fabled Eclipse Genocide. The concoction is said in legend to have initially been created in 1846 as a military experiment, but since dosages were never calculated due to a clerical error, the poison that caused test subjects and even its own creator to become immune to death by natural causes and aging ended up resulting in the paralysis, illness, and death of hundreds of people.

           Ruler Eternal, his knowledge in chemistry fairly decent, has recreated this fabled poison in small doses with the help of some rather insane contacts he has. He wishes to use it to gain eternal life, hence his self-given title, but is also curious of what will happen if he mimics the creator of this poison, who is said in legend to have gone mad and locked himself up in his mansion for the rest of eternity. In fact, the only reason that anyone still believes this poison actually works is because it’s rumored that some of the rats experimented on are still alive today, albeit in top secret military laboratories.

           Making the poison was a long shot and a risk, but testing it on Dylan Cronin seemed to have brought about a lack of aging but for hair growth… though no one was daring enough to see what would happen if they disconnected his life support.

           Ruler Eternal rolls up his sleeve on his right arm, gazing at the two injection marks near his elbow. Slowly, his hand shaking, he puts the jet injector up to his arm. When he steadies himself, he injects the small dose of poison into his arm. Immediately he begins feeling physically ill and clammy, which makes him moan in discomfort. He drops the jet injector and runs his sweaty fingers through his oily, unwashed hair, tugging slightly to create a distraction.

           One thing Ruler Eternal notices about this poison is that whenever he injects it into his body, his back begins to ache intensely. This pain starts up now, and Ruler Eternal curls up, his back pressed tightly against the wall, as he quietly chokes out sobs.

           He doesn’t like this sensation at all. It hurts, and he feels like he wants to die. He wants to beg to God for this to stop, for it to hurry up and be over, but he knows that won’t do any good, even though he finds himself doing it in his head regardless.

           Under his breath, he finds himself mumbling, pleading, “ _Please God, make me stop already…_ ”


	10. The Birth of an Heir

**_45.380905, 12.330823_**.

**_August 15 th, 2020_ **

          Lori Ganivet sits somewhere she doesn’t know, rocking herself. It’s been nine months since she last saw civilization, and nine months since she became pregnant with Dustin Patefield’s child. This place, this island, is not a place where she wants to bring a child into the world. She doesn’t even want the child in the first place, but she has no option and even if she were given a choice to begin with, she wouldn’t have had the guts to have an abortion.

          Her child is due any day now, she can feel it. She picks up a rock, and thinks about beating herself with it. She’s dirty, since she hasn’t bathed in nine months. She hasn’t been allowed to, or even able to, go anywhere. Dustin won’t let her. When she puts the rock down and begins to sob, she suddenly feels a hand gripping her shoulder, and she gasps.

          It’s Dustin, of course, and he kneels down beside her. “Lori, it’ll be okay.” He says as he strokes her grimy cheek, “You’re almost there.”

          “It hurts,” She says.

          “Even better,” He replies.

          “I don’t want this,” She says.

          He slaps her across the face. “Nonsense. Of course you want this. I need an heir, and you need a purpose.”

          Lori begins crying again, and Dustin notices something.

          “Oh. Your water’s broke.” He states casually. “Good, good.”

          It takes until the early hours of the next day, around 4 AM by Dustin’s estimate, for Lori to finally finish giving birth. As she pants exhaustedly, on the verge of fainting, Dustin rocks the infant in his arms, and soon it begins to cry.

          “A little boy… I’ll name you Felix.” He announces gently. “My precious little Felix…”

          Lori tries to sit up, but it’s no use. “D-Dustin…”

          “Felix,” Dustin coos to the child, “If you can, watch this, okay?”

          “W-watch what…?” Lori asks weakly.

          “He needs to learn quickly. Hopefully he’ll remember this to some extent.”

          Suddenly, Dustin stands, grabbing Lori by the hair. He tugs, dragging her along as she begins to scream. He pulls her outside, over the gravel that tears her tattered black dress up and digs into her skin. He takes her to the dock, where he then pushes her over. She screams louder before she falls head-first into the water. She expects to be able to adjust herself, but she realizes that Dustin is holding her ankle down on the deck that is now above her. She is too exhausted to push herself up, though she tries.

          Dustin watches Lori’s arms flailing underwater, and feels her attempting to kick at him. Felix continues to cry in his arms, and he gently shushes the infant.

          Underwater, Lori, needing to exhale and not being able to fight the urge to do so, tries to scream. The sound is muffled if not completely muted, and she begins struggling to breath. Her hands wrap around her own throat subconsciously, and she struggles more as she suffocates. Her vision begins to go black, and suddenly she thinks of her child. Her tears are not noticeable under the water.

          Dustin waits after Lori stops kicking until he stops seeing pockets of air rising to the surface. Finally, he lets her ankle go, and he watches her begin to sink.  
           “Good riddance,” He says, wearing a poker face as he held carefully onto Felix. “Come, Prince Felix. Let’s wash you up.”


	11. Farewell to a Cheater

**_40.720815, -74.363861_**.

**_December 30 th, 2020_ **

          Sherrie Lowe is sitting in the home of her fiancé, Jack Kingson. She’s sitting on his couch, watching TV while curling her dark brown hair around her slender pale fingers. She thinks during a commercial about how she hasn’t yet officially married Jack, and she feels relieved about it.

          If she is to be completely honest with herself, she has long since realized that she never really loved Jack. Her heart has always been in the possession of someone else, but she’s just never let herself admit it until recently due to the haunting suspicion that her crush was gay. She still kind of thinks that maybe he is, but she’s no longer entirely certain of that.

          The TV show she is watching returns just as she hears the side door open, and she huffs.

          “Jack? Jack, honey, did you pick up the condoms?” she purrs half-heartedly, joking somewhat. When Jack doesn’t respond, she sighs, “I guess not.”

          Without a word, into the room strides Dustin Patefield, standing tall at 6’3” with his hands in his jean pockets. Sherrie jumps to her feet, startled by his sudden arrival.

          “D-Dustin…?”

          “Hello, Sherrie. Long time no see.”

          “Heh, yeah…”

          They are both silent for a long moment.

          “Wh-what brings you here, anyway, Dust?”

          “I came to talk to Jack. I take it he’s not here?”

          “He is not. He went to the store a while ago.”

          “To buy condoms?”

          “Eh…”

          “Maybe I’m giving Jack too much credit in my mind.”

          “What?”

          “Why on Earth would he want to fuck you?”

          “ _Excuse_ me?! What’s that supposed to mean?!”

          Dustin smirks, but says nothing.

          “Why _wouldn’t_ he want to fuck me? I’m available! I’m sexy! I’m his!” Sherrie shouts.

          “But are you really his? Looks to me as though you’ve had several affairs behind his back.”

          Sherrie steps back, appalled. “I…”

          “I think you don’t really love him.”

          “I don’t!” Sherrie shouts suddenly, surprising Dustin for a moment, as he had been expecting her to defend herself. “I _don’t_ love him, alright?! I… I love _you_ , Dustin! I’ve always wanted you, but I was afraid that you were gay… _Please, don’t hate me…!_ ”

          Dustin stares at Sherrie in silence with a poker face. He doesn’t know what to say immediately, and he tries to figure out how to respond to this girl’s sudden confession.

          “It’s so hard… Pretending that he’s you… when he’ll _never_ be you! Knowing that you’ve been taken from me by that Chinese bitch!”

          “ _Shut up._ ” Dustin snarls. Sherrie looks up and sees that he is stomping toward her, and she can’t help but flinch.

          “D-Dust—”

          “What right do you have to call her a bitch? You’re a fucking hypocritical whore, Sherrie.”

          Sherrie tears up at the insult, but is too afraid to counter it.

          “I should kill you where you stand and save Jack from the misery you’re putting him through. What did he do to deserve this?”

          “He proposed to me…”

          “ _OUT OF LOVE! WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY NO?!_ ” Dustin roars at her, making her belt out a pitiful scream of fear.

          Dustin throws Sherrie to the floor and stands over her, glaring down at her as she stares up at him in terror.

          “And out of spite, you expect me to tell you that I love you back. In your fucking dreams. I’ve hated you since you made out with Josh McVay while I was under your fucking bed. Were you trying to make me jealous with that? Because it disgusted me. I could never love you.”

          Sherrie is heartbroken and petrified by those words, uttered by the one she loves with such contempt and disdain.

          “Do us all a favor and kill yourself, Sherrie. Don’t worry about Jack,” Dustin says as he turns and begins heading for the exit. “ _I’ll take care of him._ ”

          “No… No, you can’t leave me like this! I won’t let you!” Sherrie shouts.

          “Try and stop me. I dare you.” Dustin growls as he turns again to face her.

          The girl in the light brown sweater picks herself up from the floor, wiping the tears flowing freely down her face with her right arm.

          “I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you… I thought from the first second I saw you that you were _so cool_ … I wanted to be your friend at least…!”

          “Get on with it.” Dustin snarls. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he can feel his frozen heart melt a bit watching his old friend cry this way.

          “You aren’t my Dustin! Where’s the Dustin I love?!”

          “He _died with his pathetic wife and children!_ ” The slender man says in a raised voice. “They died by _his_ hand, and so did he, because he was too weak to take the grief!”

          Sherrie’s dark brown eyes widen in horror and disbelief as she stumbles back. “N-no… You… You killed your wife… and your kids…?”

          “I killed _Dustin’s_ wife and kids.”

          “You’ve totally lost it…!”

          Dustin begins laughing, scaring Sherrie even more. The girl feels her heart sink into her stomach, and knows that if she wasn’t so scared, she’d be bawling right now.

          “I simply must be off now, Sherrie. Goodbye.”

          “Please, no…”

          Dustin leaves Sherrie all alone in her fiancé’s house, and the girl begins to cry violently into her arms.

* * *

 

          Jack Kingson returns home to find his house, which he had been sharing with Sherrie for a few months now, in disarray.

          “Dammit, Sherrie…” He grumbles under his breath as he puts the bags he carries down on the floor. “Sherrie, where are you?” He calls out.

          There is no answer, but the bathroom door in front of him is locked.

          “Are you in there, Sherr? Answer me.”

          Still, there is nothing.

          “You haven’t fallen asleep in the tub again have you? I’m picking my way in with scissors, then, if you’re not going to answer.”

          True to his word, Jack grabs a pair of scissors and uses them to unlock the door from his side.

          “I’m coming in.” He says as he grabs the doorknob. He opens the door to see his worst nightmare looking back at him.

          In the tub before him lies his fiancée. The water is stained red with blood, which is coming from her slit wrists. Her pale white skin is even paler now than before, and her vibrant pink lips are now an unsaturated shade of peach.

          “Sh-Sherrie… Oh my God, Sherrie, _no!_ ” Quickly, Jack rushes forward and gently checks for a pulse. “No, no, please don’t be dead…!”

          Begging will do him no good, he finds, for she is already dead. He knows he has little hope to save her, so he just sits there with his head down, staring at the blood that has leaked over the edge of the tub and now fills the tiny crevices at the base of the tub.

          He doesn’t lift his head even when he hears footsteps approaching, not until he hears a voice to associate with the noises.

          “Good morning, Jack. Certainly took your time at the store, didn’t you?”

          Jack slowly turns his head to look at Dustin Patefield, who stands behind him, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

          “Sorry you had to find her this way. I was going to move her, but I figured it didn’t make a difference, and I didn’t want to ruin your floor.” Dustin says nonchalantly as he looks at his nails, palm up.

          “You… Did you… do this to her…?”

          “Sort of. I’ll admit that I had a hand in it, but she’s the one who cut her wrists open. I’m too squeamish to do that sort of thing.”

          Jack is quiet once more.

          “You don’t seem very surprised, Jack.”

          “I already heard on the news about what you did to your family. Some detective is looking for you already.”

          “Yeah, so?”

          “So I’m not surprised. You never did like Sherrie very much anyway.”

          “Wow, Jack, I’m impressed. You’re taking this rather well… I was expecting you to scream at me or something.”

          “I’m trying not to threaten you.”

          “You always were clever, Jack.”

          “But I _am_ going to call the cops.”

          “Oh, yeah?”

          “I’ll let you go, first. I’ll give you twenty minutes to get as far away from here as possible.”

          Dustin blinks, confused by Jack’s proposal. “Wait, so… I killed your fiancée… and you _don’t want me to get caught for it?_ ”

          “No, I don’t.”

          “… Why the fuck not?”

          “Because this isn’t you.”

          Dustin uncrosses his arms quietly.

          “I don’t want you to get in trouble for what Eternal does, Dustin. I’ll save you from him, I swear on my life.”

          “You must have a death wish, then.” Dustin says, though his tone is solemn and maybe even touched.

          “Hurry up and get out of here, both of you.”

          “There’s only one of us here right now, Jack.”

          “And which one is that?”

          “Eternal. _Ruler_ Eternal.”

          “Fine, then. Hurry up and get out of here, _Ruler Eternal._ ”

          Ruler Eternal heads for the door, but stops and turns back to look at Jack. His brow is furrowed, and he looks almost guilty. “… Are you sure you’re not pissed at me?”

          “I never said I wasn’t pissed at you.” Jack replies quietly as Ruler Eternal walks out, evading capture by trusting the man who still has a debt to repay him.


	12. Completion

  ** _40.720815, -74.363861_**.

           “Hey there. I’m Inspector General Simon Callahan. I take it you’re Jack Kingson?”

            Jack doesn’t raise his head to the man standing in front of him, who wears a vanilla-colored suit and is accompanied by a remarkably similar man in a blue-green suit.

            “Just hang tight for a while, Mr. Kingson. My brother Frank and I are just going to stick around to make sure our colleagues get here to inspect this suicide.”

            “It wasn’t a suicide.” Jack grumbles under his breath.

            “Excuse me?” The man with messy brown hair in front of him adjusts his own glasses as he looks at Jack. “What was it, then?”

            “A murder, committed by Ruler Eternal.”

            “Ah, boring, you’ve already told me that.”

            Jack says nothing.

            “How did you know Dustin Patefield?” Simon asks, as if trying to make small talk.

            “We… We were kind of close, once. In high school, that is.”

            “Is he a friend of yours?” Frank suddenly speaks up with a gentle and timid voice that’s not all that similar to his brother’s, which is optimistic and outgoing.

            “Stupid, of course not!” Simon scolds.

            “Sorry, Simon.”

            Jack shakes his head. “He is… _was_ … _is_ —I don’t know anymore.” He answers anyway.

            “Tell me, though…” Simon begins, “If Patefield killed your fiancée…”

            “Her _name_ is Sherrie Lowe.”

            “If Patefield killed your fiancée, Sherrie… then why didn’t he kill _you_ , too?”

            “I don’t know. Maybe he’s still fond of me.” The black haired man gives the Inspector Generals a genuine answer, and both of them go quiet.

            With a somewhat sympathetic look on his face, Simon looks across the room at his brother, who is preoccupied with examining the wallpaper.

            “Frank… Frank, what are you doing?” He asks.

            “This is really nice wallpaper.”

            “Yeah, I… I can tell…”

            Breaking the conversation up, a tall blond man with a long black and brown patched-up coat walks in. His brown eyes scan the hallway before he walks in further, revealing that he is being followed by a 5’10”-ish young man with black hair and platinum blond bangs.

            “Callahan, we’re here.” The taller man says with a gruff, hoarse voice to Simon. Jack subconsciously observes that the man sounds like he’s wheezing somewhat.

‘ _Must be a smoker…_ ’

            “About time.” Simon replies as he pushes himself off of the wall that he was leaning against. Jack takes off his glasses and begins cleaning them with his grey hoodie as he quietly, half-heartedly listens to the conversation that begins.

            “So, why did you call us here?” asks the man with the platinum bangs.

            “Well, it’s sort of complex…” replies Simon, “This girl, Sherrie Lowe, apparently killed herself.”

            “Who’s the guy?” As he questions this, the blond man glances at Jack off-handedly.

            “Her fiancé, Jack Kingson.”

            “Oh, Jesus.”

            “Thing is, he thinks that his fiancée’s death wasn’t a suicide, but a murder.”

            “Oh? And just who does he suspect committed it?” The man with the platinum bangs finally speaks up.

            “One of their mutual high school friends… Dustin Patefield.” Simon pauses briefly, and looks in Jack’s direction as he says, “I personally just believe that if anything, _he_ must have killed her.”

            Hearing this, Jack looks up. He quickly puts his glasses back on and stands, turning to face the three of them.  
           “I understand why you would assume that I did it,” He begins protesting, “But I swear on my life that I would _never_ do such a thing!”

            “Oh, please. That’s what they all say.” Simon remarks cheekily.

            “No, he’s telling the truth.”

            Jack turns his head to the source of the voice that defends him to see that it has come from the man with the platinum streak. The man is looking at Jack with vibrant green eyes that lack a certain level of humanity, and therefore vaguely remind Jack of Dustin on the evening of his bachelor party…

            “Wait, what?” Simon looks at the man in disbelief. “You really think so?”

            “Yes, without a doubt.”

            Jack relaxes a bit. “Thank you, sir.” He says before he sits down and lowers his head once more. He begins to think about Dustin again.

            ‘ _Where is he…?_ ’ he worries, ‘ _I hope he was able to get far enough away from here…_ ’

            He still remembers the good times; the day in December where he saved Dustin from slipping, the long-winded conversations, the smile he got from Dustin on the day they first met, the—

            “Kingson, I need to ask you some questions.”

            Jack snaps out of his thoughts to see the blond man standing in front of him, almost glaring down at him with his baggy brown eyes. The way the man held himself suggested that he had to be almost fifty, but the way he looked gave the impression that he was much younger, despite his wrinkles.

            Not in a great mood, Jack snaps at him, “What on Earth is there to ask? I told you what happened already. I came home and I found her in the bathtub with her wrists slit.”

            The older man recoils a bit, and his younger, green-eyed partner places a striped-gloved hand on his upper arm, which appears to do the exact opposite of sooth him.

            “Please allow me to speak with him, Detective Mortensen.” He says. The blond man, apparently a detective named Mortensen, nods reluctantly and takes a step back, allowing the younger man, no older than twenty-six by Jack’s estimate, to take his place in the narrow hallway.

            “So your name is Kingson, correct?”

            “Yes.”

            “My name is Dr. Cheshire, and this is my…” Cheshire trails off, giving the older man behind him an uneasy look before continuing forcibly, “… _employer_ , Detective Mortensen.”

            “Well, it’s very nice to meet the two of you.” He isn’t sure if he meant to say these words sarcastically, but he does.

            Standing casually and yet also gentlemanly, Dr. Cheshire ignores the sarcasm. “You're surprisingly calm for someone whose fiancée just committed suicide, Kingson.” He says, his suspicion vague but still noticeable.

            “Because I know who pushed her over the edge.” Kingson says confidently. “Besides, I'm honestly surprised she didn't go through with it earlier.”

            Detective Mortensen blinks in surprise, but stays quiet, whereas the equally concerned Cheshire believes they must have misheard. “Pardon me?” The gentleman asks.

            “She's always been such an over-dramatic person.” Jack resumes, “I think Dustin convinced her to finally end it with all good intentions, though.”

            “Really? How so?”

            Seeing no reason to lie, Jack tells the truth. “He knew her longer than I did. He's always been pretty clever, too, so he probably figured out, even sooner than I, that she was a complete whore.”

            Detective Mortensen steps forward, a hand extended as if to express a need to stop Kingson. “Whoa, okay, I think I have to draw the line there.”

            Without as much as a glance at his “employer”, Cheshire says, “Be quiet, Mortensen.” Apparently chastised, Mortensen reluctantly steps back and sighs quietly.  
            “So, you think that he made her kill herself for your sake?”

            Hearing Cheshire continue, Jack follows suit. “Yes. He stopped liking Sherrie around the time she and I hooked up. I used to think that he was jealous, but that was stupid, because Dustin's asexual.”

            “Very interesting. How close were you with him in high school?”

            “We had a bit of a rocky relationship at first, and then we got pretty close... But then he changed, and we suddenly just... drifted apart, I guess.”

            Cheshire tilts his head somewhat. “And just what exactly do you mean when you say that ‘he changed’?”

            Kingson averts his eyes for just a moment, realizing that breaking eye contact completely could peg him as a liar. If he is lying, he doesn’t want it to be all that apparent. “It's a really long story. He just... changed. It's hard to explain.”

            Cheshire adjusts his posture once more, looking down ever so slightly at Jack. “I understand completely. That is all I have to ask you for now.”

            “Alright, then.” Jack manages to say casually. He watches as Mortensen and Cheshire disappear into the bathroom, the room where Sherrie’s corpse still lies, waiting until they have disappeared from his line of sight before he sits back down on the floor and zones back into his thoughts.

* * *

 

            The pain in his back is intense now. With his body pressed tightly against a wall, Ruler Eternal gasps erratically. He feels something crawling under his skin. His veins are on fire. Just what exactly is in Eclipse Poison? It is then that he realizes he has no idea.

            A surge of pain makes him lurch forward. Sweat is dripping off of his pale, gaunt face now. It feels like something is trying to get out through his back.

            “Stop,” He gasps, though he doesn’t really mean to, “Stop, please.”

            His begging does nothing, and more pain brings him to his knees. Something is rubbing against his ribs. Something slender and soft inside him stabs at his back, just one and then at least five more. He belts out a loud scream against the floor, which he attempts to dig his thin fingers into.

            Suddenly, there is a ripping noise, and the pain spikes horribly. Ruler Eternal’s scream becomes more desperate for a moment before fading off, like the pain. He sits on the floor panting for a bit, not moving until he realizes there’s something touching his hand. He opens his eyes and sees it’s a light blue… vein-like thing. He feels a muscle in his back twitch, and sees the vein-like appendage twitch with it.

            For a long moment, he isn’t sure how to react. He tries to consciously move the appendage, and manages to make it stretch out and wrap around his arm. Then he jumps to his feet and runs to the bathroom; he can feel more of these appendages brushing against his legs as he runs, and the sensation isn’t entirely pleasant.

            When he looks into the bathroom mirror, he can’t help but stare in disbelief. His eyes are ever so faintly glowing light blue in the dim light, as are the six Veins that extend from his back like something out of a horror story. But even so, Ruler Eternal doesn’t scream. He places his hand on the cold glass surface, and tries to control the Veins.

            It doesn’t take very long for him to get the hang of using them. He makes them stab into the wall, which sends pain shooting up them to his back, but is effective nevertheless. He finds that he can stretch them quite far, and can even twist them at will. With a little bit of difficulty, he tries to pull them back; he discovers that they can slide back into him, efficiently hiding them from sight.

            A long, malicious grin spreads across Ruler Eternal’s face. “And now the fun begins,” He giggles.


End file.
